The End of the Silver River
by Silvermoonlight1
Summary: Translated as best I could from the Book of Mindon, here follows the account of Ithildin Brethilmin during the War of the Rings
1. Ithildin's Farewell

             Her name was Ithildin and she knew this only because of a memory in her heart. Long ere she was old enough to wield a sword, her heart would whisper this name to her and she knew not what it meant, only that it seemed to belong to her. So she took this as her name and this she was called by the peoples of Middle-Earth.

She was raised in the home of an elderly couple, in the House of Friends, or the _Herth-Milui_ as it was called in the Elven-tongue. Ithildin knew not who her parents were, for she was found as an infant on the shores of the Silverlode by the elderly couple. As a child she had been unlike any the elderly couple had ever seen. She had the stolidity of a Man, yet she possessed the grace and beauty of an Elf. Quick were her reactions and lovely was her voice. It did not occur to the elderly couple that the child might possess some Elvish blood. They thought only that she was blessed.

Ithildin loved the people of Herth-Milui very much, but soon she felt a stirring in her heart and a desire to see the lands of Middle-Earth. When she was a young woman, she took up her riding stick, some clothing and food, and prepared to leave. Sorrowful was the day when she departed, for she dearly loved the only parents she had ever known, the only home she had ever lived in and the beautiful land of _Mindon Enedh_, the Middle of the Hill. She bade farewell to the soft green grasses, the birches young and old and the birds that had awoken her every morning with their sweet song.

Yet the beauty of Mindon Enedh could not conceal the ache in her heart. Herth-Milui was a home to her, a dear cottage nestled among friendly trees and flowers. But it was not her home. And Ithildin so wanted a place to call her home. 


	2. Following the Celebrant and the Nimrodel

The tiny land of Mindon Enedh lay nestled between the _Celebrant—_Silverlode in the Common Speech—and rolling hills, which were the offspring of the Misty Mountains. It was a land few knew for only three homes were built there; and of those three, only Herth-Milui was, in Ithildin's time, still occupied by people. The story of the other two homes and what became of the fair folk who once dwelt there, is not told here for it is little remembered by the peoples of Middle-Earth and does not concern Ithildin or her journey. The tales of the Mindon Enedh can be found in the Great Book of Lore, in the study of Elrond Halfelven in Rivendell, _Imladris_ in the Elven-tongue. Sadly, even the oldest do not remember the small, but great land in the hills and today, its legacy is all but forgotten.

Ithildin's first step in direction was east. East was where the sun rose each morning and the rising of the sun meant a new day, filled with new beginnings and possibilities. To Ithildin, this was what her journey was about. She followed the Celebrant as it flowed from the Misty Mountains. She journeyed many miles for many days, yet she tired little. Ithildin knew not what strength possessed her, but she knew that she had been blessed with such strength. 

A fortnight after she set out from Mindon Enedh, the Celebrant joined with the Nimrodel, which also flowed from the Misty Mountains, south of Moria. The Nimrodel's beauty was long admired by the people of Middle-Earth, for its very babble was like the chorus of a thousand Ainur. 

Ithildin, tired from a day's journey, rested her feet in its cool water. Immediately, she was rejuvenated and her spirits, which had lowered a little, were lifted. She felt a curious connection with this lovely stream, though she knew not what of. She closed her eyes and rested her head and allowed the music of the water to soothe her.

Presently, she was awakened by the cry of a gull. 'Strange that a gull should fly so far east from the Sea,' she thought as she gathered her belongings. The gull's cry had brought a queer stab of sorrow to her heart. Ithildin hoisted her pack, reached for her walking stick and continued on down the Nimrodel.

Two days passed when she found herself in the realm of a fair and beautiful forest. Nay, she soon discovered that it was an enormous wood, for it stretched out endlessly south before her. To either side of the Nimrodel it lay and its beauty could not be described with words. The leaves were golden. Not a pale yellow, or light brown, but gold as the golden sunset! The stems of the trees were silver and the ground, which did not bare a single leaf though it was late autumn, was green with grass soft.

The beauty of the woods beckoned to Ithildin, who felt a longing in her heart to see the heights of its tall trees. She strayed from the path and submerged herself into the woods west of the Nimrodel. Here, she walked and the majesty of the life about her was powerful and overwhelming. She could smell the sweetness of the flowers, though she knew not their names. Their scent filled her mind with thoughts of joy and happiness and in a sudden burst of energy, she sprinted to the nearest tree and leapt up into the air. Her hands caught the length of a branch high above her head and she knew not how she could have done this, for it was well above her. Yet, scarcely had she touched the tree when a clear voice commanded, "_Daro_!" from below.

In her surprise, Ithildin dropped down to the ground. But the creatures that surrounded her with drawn bows had moved faster and quieter than she could have perceived. Ithildin looked up in fear, for she had never before seen living people other than those who lived in Herth-Milui.

The creatures that stood before her were half a head taller than she. They possessed hair long and golden that shone in the waning afternoon sunlight. Their faces were fairer than the description of words for their skin was flawless and radiant, and their eyes were bright and keen. The creatures wore cloaks of grey secured by a beautiful brooch of silver and a green leaf. Yet, the beauty of these creatures could not hide the seriousness in their eyes and the firmness of their stances. Ithildin did not move and this was to her credit, for she was surrounded by Haldir and the Guards of Lothlórien, the fairest dwelling in all of Middle-Earth of the race of Elves.


	3. The Lórien Elves

"Who are you and what business brings you here?" asked one of the creatures. He looked to be the leader, for he stood straighter than the rest and wore a silver belt the others did not. Commanding was his voice and Ithildin dared not defy it. 

"I am Ithildin the Wanderer, Lady of Mindon Enedh," she said.

The stern expression upon the leader's face disappeared. "Mindon Enedh?" he cried, astonished. The other creatures murmured expressions of surprise for it was long ere that name had been uttered in their tongue. They lowered their bows because they sensed no sign of immediate danger from the lovely stranger before them.

"Mindon Enedh," he repeated once more, "Why, the folk of that land have long since vanished!"

"Nay," answered Ithildin. "There are some who remain and dwell in the house of Herth-Milui, where I am from."

"Then, you do not bring danger, but strange tidings from the east of the Misty Mountains, for it is long since I have heard the name of that fair land. I am Haldir, Commander of the Guards of Lothlórien," said the leader withdrawing his arrow. "You have strayed far into our woods and have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You must be taken to her now, and she shall judge you and decide whether to hold you or give you leave".

With that, Haldir turned and began to walk deeper into the trees. Ithildin followed and the other two guards walked behind her, as was the custom in Lothlórien when an uninvited stranger was taken to the Lady. Long they traveled and on a path smooth and clean and free of any of a path's blemishes. Neither stone nor twig littered the fair path and it was quite pleasant to walk amongst the silver tree stems, while the remnants of the afternoon's sunlight filtered through a golden canopy and the sky behind them was a fiery mosaic of reds and oranges and the sky before them hinted at the evening twilight.

Haldir spoke to her as they walked and told her of things fair and old. Ithildin learnt much during their walk: Of the Elves and their coming to Middle-Earth; of the Dwarves and their great homes in the deep caverns of the mountains; of Men and their white cities and golden halls; of the strange Little Folk who were never seen beyond their land near the Great Sea. And the Elves sang her songs of the Nimrodel and the fair Lady and told her Elven legends, so that when Ithildin reached Galadhrim many hours later, she had become quite knowledgeable of the names and places and wither-fors and why-tos of Middle-Earth.


	4. Stories of Hope and Darkness

The journey was long and despite the wonderful beauty about her, Ithildin found herself growing tired and weary. Haldir allowed her to rest a bit on a dazzling green mound of land. Here, the golden trees, which Ithildin learned were called mallorn trees, formed a great circle like a crown atop the hill and the lush grass was populated with golden, white and pale green flowers. 

"Let us rest a bit in Cerin Amroth," said Haldir. For a while, Ithildin laid her head against the cool grass and allowed the fragrant scent of the hill engulf her. Presently, Haldir came by her side. He smiled a little at the beauty of the hill. "Come," he said, reaching for her hand. "I will take you up to the hill and there may you see as much of the splendor of Lórien as your heart desires."

Together, they walked up the Amroth and lo! the view was unlike anything she had ever seen. Vast stretched the lands of the forest and the golden treetops shone and glowed against the dark sky like a ring of gold wreathed in flame. Ithildin looked to the south and fair Lórien grew straight to the horizon. But when she looked east, she noticed a dark, flat land beyond Lórien and though the day was dark, the darkness of that land seemed impenetrable. She shuddered, for looking at it made her feel ill at heart and she was suddenly cold. Haldir noted her gaze.

"The dark land that you see is Southern Mirkwood. Once, before these years, it was as beautiful as its Northern brother, but the dark Lord that shall be unnamed took the land for his own and destroyed it. The magic of those woods was lost to his cruelty and the Elves that once dwelt there are gone. In Lórien, we still sing songs of lament for our lost kindred who fell to the Dark Lord. But that shall not be for long. My heart tells me that something great is going to happen in the next year and the years to come after. I do not know what; but something tells me that the decisions of a few may rule the fate of all Middle-Earth."

************************

Haldir took her to Caras Galadhon, the home of the Lady of the Wood. News of the mysterious stranger had reached the folk of this city and preparations had been made for her. Ithildin was invited to join the Elves for a late supper and the meal was unlike anything she had ever eaten. There was bread and butter, fruit, and a warm, fragrant drink that was not wine, yet gave her a strength that no wine could ever give. Ithildin ate to her heart's content and still the food never seemed to run out. The Elves were merry and joyous and Ithildin felt soothed by the sound of their clear voices. When the meal was over, the Elves sang many songs in their tongue for times were happy then and the shadow had not yet reached Lothlórien. 

Ithildin was content to listen to their songs, but the Elves implored her to join. She protested for she did not know songs of their tongue or of their people. And yet, when she opened her mouth to bid them return to their singing, she found that suddenly she did understand their language and a desire to express it overcame her. Out of her mouth flowed a voice as high and sweet as a nightingale and all the Elves gasped. The song was short, and Ithildin did not understand what she had sung, or where she had learnt the words. When it was over, the Elves applauded and begged for another. 

At this moment, Haldir came to her side and whispered to her that it was time to meet the Lady. He did not say a word about her sudden ability to speak his language, but he remained quiet and thoughtful as he led her away. The other Elves cried words of parting to her and Ithildin was sad to leave them. Soon, they reached a hill and upon it, on its southernmost side, stood the largest tree she had seen yet. Its first branches stretched high above into the sky. Indeed, the tree seemed to reach past the sky. Upon its side was a sturdy white ladder and after Haldir had conversed with a guard positioned at its base, he motioned for her to climb up the ladder. Ithildin did so, though it was a trying climb and it was not until she had reached the top that she realized Haldir had not followed her.

She passed many flets and climbed still until the ladder ceased and she stood in front of a house grand and regal. Its walls were green and silver and its roof, a shining gold. Into a room shaped like an oval she entered and in the center rose the mighty trunk of the tree. Seated side by side underneath its shimmering leaves were the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien: Celeborn, whose face showed no age and whose hair was of mighty silver and Galadriel, the Lady of the Wood, who had seen Middle-Earth before the darkness and would see Middle-Earth after the darkness.


	5. Galadriel

Celeborn arose and greeted her with kind words, but the Lady Galadriel, who had risen as well, remained silent. She stared intently at Ithildin and her gaze was more piercing than an Elven arrow. Ithildin imagined she could almost hear a voice inside her head and it whispered things she did not understand. She looked back at the Lady Galadriel, and for a while, they were locked in a silent battle of wills until finally, Galadriel smiled and the spell was broken.

            "Welcome, Lady of Mindon Enedh," said Galadriel and her voice was magical. "You have come a long way from your little home. I see though that your journey will not be in vain. You shall touch the lives of many and you will grow into wisdom and beauty as the time goes by. Yet all is not well even for such a young one. You are a mystery. You possess the sturdiness of a Man, yet speak the language of the Elves as if you were one of us. Child of the Silverlode after which you were named, what do you know of your past?"

            Ithildin bowed her head. "Nothing, my Lady. It is not a matter that concerns me. My only family are the people of Herth-Milui and that is enough."

            The Lady smiled, sorrowfully. "It is not so simple, little one. I see in you a power both good and evil, though you yourself do not see it. It will grow and you shall be tempted by it. Yet for all my knowledge I cannot determine what your power is, only that you shall carry it all your life. It is for this reason that I question you."

            Celeborn did not say anything, but watched the exchange with interest. At length however he was called away by one of the elves and left the chamber. When he was gone, Galadriel came over to Ithildin's side. It was painful to the Lady to see the destiny that awaited the young woman before her. Ithildin's journey would not end for a long time, and Galadriel, who had seen the end, knew that it would not be a happy one. Not if the power that was growing within her became too strong.

            "Do you know what your name means?" asked Galadriel. Ithildin shook her head. "It describes that which is reflected silver in moonlight...Silver moonlight. And it is an Elvish name as is the name of your home that you spoke of. You do not know your own heritage, yet the names you have grown up with are names of the Silvan folk. Tell me, have you ever spoken our language?"

            Ithildin recalled briefly, her moment of song, when she had been seized by knowledge that she had never possessed. "Yes, my Lady. Before I came here, I sang a song to the Elves of Caras Galadhon and I sang it in your language, though I had neither spoken nor heard of it before. It was brief, but for a moment, I was able to know many things: the hearts of the people before me, things past and yet to come, and I could sense many emotions. I do not know where this knowledge came from."

            Galadriel did not speak for quite some time. Ithildin's words had confirmed a suspicion in her mind, but the Lady felt she should not speak of such matters. Instead, she smiled and caressed Ithildin's face. Her touch was at once calming and Ithildin found herself growing sleepy after the day's long walk. 

         "Tonight, you shall rest for as long as you want and tomorrow, you may leave if you wish," said Galadriel.

            This news brought joy to Ithildin, for though the woods of Lothlórien were fair and splendid, she was restless to see more of Middle-Earth. For the time being though she was content to be led to a room with soft blankets and warm covers. There, she slept peacefully, unaware of anything but the serenity of the night.


	6. Onward South

The morning dawned crisp, clear and warm. The sky was a soft blue and sprinkled with small wisps of white cloud. A gentle breeze ruffled the golden treetops and the sound of each leaf was its own unique note so that it seemed as if a song from the heavens had descended upon the people of Lothlórien.

            Ithildin remained in the Golden Wood for many days. There was a mystery to it that she longed to solve, but always it seemed the answer eluded her. She was content to spend entire days wandering about the trees. Often, she could be seen by the Elves from a distance: a tall, lithe figure, with skin pale as the moonlight on a cloudless night, and hair of deep black laced with silver, singing softly to herself as she walked as one with the trees. And the Lórien Elves called her _Brethilmin_, which in the Common Speech means 'one silver tree', for it seemed sometimes that she herself became the silver trees she loved.

            On the day she left Lothlórien, the Lord Celeborn bowed low and wished her luck on her journey. Galadriel, Lady of the Golden Wood, blessed her and gave her a gift: A necklace of delicate silver, and woven through it was a pendant of mithril-stone, a precious gem that was much beloved by all the people of Middle-Earth. 

"This stone, which we call mithril, is not heavy; yet neither bow nor sword can pierce it. As your heart remains light and true, so shall the stone that hangs upon your neck. May it always be so, and may your heart know nothing but happiness," said the Lady.

            Ithildin was sad to leave the fair realm, but her spirit would not be content to settle. She knew that she could never call Lothlórien her home, for it seemed more like a world of things lost and once glorious and in Ithildin's heart, she feared that one day, the golden light of this beautiful forest would fade. Haldir led her across the Nimrodel, towards Southern Lothlórien and on the eastern shore of the stream, they parted never to meet again.

             Ithildin continued down south. In the far distance, to her left, there was ever the sound of Anduin, the Great River. She saw many sights of wonder and beauty as she walked through the Celebrant Field and her heart hurt at the breathtaking images before her. Little had she dreamed, in her home of Herth-Milui, that Middle-Earth could contain so much to love, and every step she took was a blessing and the mithril-stone upon her collar was never heavy. For she loved all that she saw: every pebble and flower and tree and stream. She knew not their names, but gave them names of her own. 

            She did not meet any other travelers save for a fox and a rabbit and birds from high atop trees that sang songs of greeting to morning day and songs of farewell to evening night. The road was not hard and could easily be taken, for these were the last remaining days of peace before the rise of the Dark Lord and much of southern Middle-Earth was still free and beautiful. The One Ring's possessor had not been discovered by the servants of the Dark Lord and much of the hurt and pain that would come to the free peoples of Middle-Earth had not been borne. 

            Time passed and slowly, Ithildin began to change. She began to develop a deep knowledge of the secrets of the world about her. Her soul became one with nature and she knew all the trees, flowers, rocks, birds and life about her. Her senses sharpened and she could hear things normal Men could not. Her reflexes were quick and her step was so light and soundless even deer were not aware of her approach. So it came that Ithildin developed into womanhood as she passed through the mysterious forest of Fangorn and the power within her grew ever stronger.


	7. Out of the Ent-Country

Much that happened during Ithildin's journey through the forest of Fangorn is not important. She did not encounter any Ents, for her feet were soundless upon the dead leaves, and she treated the trees with such love and care that they were scarcely aware of her presence. However, Ithildin did feel a darkness in the forest and she did not like it. It was similar to a shadow; not of a physical kind, but a shadow that threatened her mind and clouded her heart. She could not have known where the shadow came from, but each time it overcame her, the stone of mithril upon her neck grew heavy at once.

This shadow was none other than the first tentacles of evil in Middle-Earth. The beautiful country of Isengard, which lay but a few weeks' journey from Fangorn, was slowly falling into the grasp of the white wizard Saruman and the Lord of Mordor was stirring and gathering allies. Even as Ithildin's feet fell upon the paths of the Ent-Country, Gandalf the Grey, _Mithrandir_ in the Elven-tongue, was in the White City, reading the scrolls of the Númenorean king Isildur, and Strider the Ranger had captured the creature Smeagol, who was now called Gollum. 

Sweet Ithildin knew nothing of these perils, for her only desire was a place to call her home and well it was for her that she desired something so small and simple. Yet, she did not escape from Fangorn unscathed. The dark shadow nourished the power within her and planted into it evil seeds. Ithildin became ever more strengthened by these seeds, but the strength was tainted with dark thoughts and her innocence had lost some of the purity from which the power had grown.

The beauty of Fangorn was not lost on Ithildin. Its trees were different than those in Lothlórien. They were not golden, but of many different races, each possessing special qualities. There were young saplings, virgin birches, towering maples, trees that reached her waist and some that towered over twice her height. And these trees were alive! They were living breathing creatures with thoughts and dreams of their own. Ithildin need only place her hand upon the trunk of one to feel its history and all that it had seen. 

When she emerged from the forest, she continued down south and slowly made her way to Edoras, the capital of Rohan. Almost two months had passed since she left the land in the hills. Her feet had developed an almost hobbit-like skin, for like the hobbits, she wore no shoes. Her skin was luminous and fair, her hair longer and more beautiful than ever; it flowed down her back and its silver strands shone brilliantly in day and night. But the greatest change was in her eyes. Their deep blue reflected more wisdom and knowledge than even the great kings of old and no living being save Galadriel the Lady, Elrond the Half-Elf and Mithrandir possessed more knowledge than her.

It was the power within her that deepened her midnight eyes. For Ithildin's power was not in strength, but in mind. She could see things that few others could. She need only look at a living being, whether it be animal, plant or people, and she could see its heart, its mind and its deepest secrets. This is what Galadriel had foreseen, but not even the Lady could have known that evil would touch Ithildin so soon after she had left Lothlórien.

For danger and evil were coming full force to meet Ithildin, the wandering Silver Lady and her journey had only begun. The Eye of the Dark Lord had already sensed her power and Ithildin did not know this, nor did she know that if she gave in to the dark, she would become the Lord of Mordor's greatest ally. But Sauron, the Dark Lord _did_ know, and his eye was ever watchful, waiting for the chance to ensnare this power for his own devices.


	8. The Kindness of Strangers

            Out of Fangorn, she finally walked and the land past the forest was not nearly so beautiful. Here, the shadow from the East was strongest and much of it was bleak and dreary. The trees hurt; Ithildin could feel it when she touched them. The birds did not sing, for nowhere was there to be seen any birds though off in the distance, there was always the sound of wolves. Night was not pleasant, but frightening and Ithildin often found herself resting amidst brushes, for fields seemed far too dangerous. There was no road and the ground was littered with dead leaves and jagged stones. 

            She passed Helm's Deep on the first of November, though of course, she did not know it was called Helm's Deep. It was a deep alcove of land, surrounded by caverns and caves of stone. Perhaps once, it had flourished with vibrant life, but now it lay desolate and ruined. A great tower lay at its end and a fortress and wall surrounded it. It seemed, to Ithildin, that this might once have been a battleground where great warriors of old fought against ancient terrors.

            In mid-November, she reached the northern borders of Edoras, the capital of Rohan, a great city of Men. It was a beautiful city, surrounded by lush green hills. Houses stood like small white blocks of stone upon the hills and they looked so warm and cozy and so like her own home of Herth-Milui that Ithildin felt a stirring in her heart such as she had never felt before. The guards of the borders let her in without much questioning, for she did not seem dangerous to them and she walked with an air of grace and beauty. 

            Inside, the city was alive with activity and the people were harried, but friendly. Ithildin walked about the streets a bit, admiring the buildings about her. After a few hours, she came across a pleasant-looking inn called the Golden Horse and in it she walked. It was not very crowded though the evening drew nigh and Ithildin was given a very cozy room. When she had settled and packed away her few possessions in a storage cupboard by the bed, she walked downstairs into the Common room, where she dined for the evening.

            Seldom did people who were not Men reside in the Golden Horse and Ithildin soon drew a circle of questioners. She did not mind for the people were pleasant. One, in particular, a man who introduced himself as Grima, expressed great interest in her life. When the others had departed, he stayed behind and they talked of many delightful things. He told her many things about Edoras, for he was the King of the Mark, Théoden's faithful advisor, returning home from an errand outside the City who had stopped at the inn for a bite to eat and a bit of rest before returning to the king.

            "Though I am much put off being away from my King for so long," he concluded with a sad smile. "Our people love him so, for he is a good King, and a wise and noble man, learned of much lore and history. The shadow grows in the East, but our people look to the West, to his golden hall and are much comforted."

            "How I wish I could meet him," said Ithildin, wistfully, for she had seen Elves and sensed Ents, but had never met Men.

            "Then I shall take you to see him tomorrow," Grima promised.

            And with that, they bade farewell and Ithildin returned to her room, fed and content. She slept easily and dreamed pleasant dreams. In the midst of one, she was awoken roughly by a hand on her shoulder. It was Grima. "Fair lady," he whispered, "I do not mean to disturb your sleep. Indeed, I regret having to and apologize deeply. But strange, tall creatures who were not Men or Elves, arrived at the northern borders of our city some hours ago and they asked for you. The guards knew not what to do, for they sensed a dark presence in these visitors and did not wish to allow them to pass. They turned the visitors away saying they had not seen you. But the creatures were not fooled and not an hour passed when they stormed the gates. One guard was slain and the others fled, but along the way, they met messengers returning to Edoras and sent them over quickly to warn me. 

            "'_Awake, awake!'_ they said to me, '_Strange visitors drew nigh the northern border of Edoras, seeking for a lady of an Elvish name. They were turned away, but later, they returned with force. One guard is slain and the rest are hiding in the safety of the hills. They seek the one called Ithildin. You must find her for we fear the Silver Lady is in danger!'_ Quickly, I saddled my horse and rode over to the inn. You must leave, I fear, for something tells me these creatures will never stop hunting you."

            Cold were her hands when Ithildin packed up her belongings. Grima went away downstairs to ready a horse for her escape. Before she left, she took out her mithril necklace and put it around her neck. The stone was heavy and cold against her skin, yet its touch was calming. Quickly, Ithildin left the room and silent were her footsteps when she arrived at the stable.


	9. Secrets in the Dark

            Grima had chosen the swiftest steed in the stables of the Golden Horse. Many there were, for the messengers and kings men often stopped in the inn on their ways in and out of the city. The horse was beautiful; its mane was black as jet and its body, silver. Ithildin loved it upon sight and with one touch the horse loved her too.

            "This is Landalë, one of our swiftest horses, for he is a direct descendant of the King's legendary Shadowfax, who was taken by the grey wizard, Gandalf. He will never let any rider fall, no matter how swiftly he gallops. Here, tie your bag to this saddle. I have found some rope for you to use. There now, you are ready." 

Ithildin had never ridden a horse before, yet she mounted gracefully upon Landalë without trouble. The mithril stone shone underneath her tunic, but fortunately for her Grima did not see it. He handed her the reigns and the horse neighed softly beneath her. She caressed his mane gently, for she sensed that Landalë was afraid, though she could not tell why. The night was cold and the moon was nowhere to be seen. It had hidden behind black clouds and the stars had disappeared. Edoras lay in darkness and somewhere not far away, strange tall creatures hunted its lands.

"Where do I go?" asked Ithildin. "I do not know this place."

"You should head north, turning west. Follow the path that is lined with sunflowers, that which the Elves call _Nóruilond_, the golden road. It will take you to the North-South Road. Follow it, for it leads to the Gap of Rohan and only there may you cross to the other side of the Misty Mountains. The road will take you to the Ford of Isen, where I have already sent messengers to await you. They will take you to Isengard, the home of Saruman the White."

"I have heard of this man," said Ithildin. "But I do not wish to waste time conferring with him. I want answers. Who are these creatures and why do they seek me?"

"All your questions will be answered when you meet Saruman. For he is an old and wise being, most powerful of the Istari of Middle-Earth. He alone has the answers that you seek."

At this, the stone of mithril grew heavier still, but Ithildin was too weary with dread to notice. "Then, I will trust your counsel and take the road to Isengard. I hope that I have done what is best."

Grima smiled, but said nothing. Ithildin took up the reigns once more, and with a small whisper of command, she rode off into the night. Soft were the gallops of Landalë and swift, and soon, she disappeared from sight and sound. Grima stood in the stables for quite some time. After more than an hour, the sound of approaching horses was heard.

"Where is the Silver Lady_?_" spoke a voice behind him and it was cold, dark and strangely inhuman. Grima turned and before him were three riders in black. Their steeds were also black, menacing and tall. The riders were faceless, and it was not because of the dark night. Terrifying they were, and they carried Morgul swords that could pierce any substance. All who saw them cowered in fear, but Grima did not.

"She has taken the _Nóruilond_. She will reach Isengard in a matter of weeks, for I chose the swiftest horse I could find. I have sent messengers to the servant of your Lord with this news. He will do as your Lord commands."

The foremost rider gave a hiss of satisfaction and the sound was horrible to the ears. "That is good news," said the rider.

Grima nodded. "Now be gone, foul riders, for your steeds' footsteps dirty my city. Your task is complete, return to the land of shadow, and never dare to enter the city of the Golden Hall again."


	10. A Sudden Change

It never occurred to Ithildin to wonder why she was suddenly able to ride a horse when she had never so much as touched one before. There were no horses in Mindon Enedh; indeed, there were almost no animals in that land, save for woodland creatures. Landalë rode swiftly, and a lesser rider would have found it very tiring to sit on his back for many hours. But Ithildin had no trouble at all. But so pressed was she to find the answers to her questions that she did not notice how her strength could now rival an Elven warrior. She did not notice that her mind was quite capable of knowing things before they happened and that many of her thoughts were tinged with a bit of darkness. This was unfortunate. Much of the danger she would face could have been prevented if only she had paid heed to the warning signs.

It took her many days to ride to the Ford of Isen. The road was treacherous, even for a horse such as Landalë and Ithildin began to suspect that a higher power might be working to slow her down, for often she would face sudden rain or snow when there had not been a single cloud in the sky. 

When she reached the Ford, there was no one there. She searched the land far and wide, but found nothing. In fact, there was not a sign that anyone had been there as far as a month ago. Ithildin knew this with certainty, for the power within her, which she mistakenly believed to be intuition, saw the barren fields of grass, the small, withered trees and the dried up streams and the history of the Ford raced through her mind in a matter of mere seconds. No messengers had arrived at the Ford to await her. She was in a desolate land, but it never occurred to her that she had been deceived. Her good heart accepted immediately the explanation that the messengers had been lost and she decided, that upon the morrow, she would return to Edoras.

She made camp underneath a small forest. The night was cold and chilly. A harsh wind blew in from the east. Ithildin built a small fire and made a stew of herbs, but it did little to warm her. Landalë waited patiently by her side and when the wind blew out her fire, he sighed sympathetically and nuzzled her neck. 'Do not be troubled, Mistress,' said his eyes, for Ithildin could communicate with her horse on a level only Elves could. She reached out and stroked Landalë's mane, singing softly to him until his eyes closed and he slept. Then, she put away the wood she had used to burn fire, and buried the ashes, for her 'intuition' told her not to leave signs of her presence.

The sun had just begun to stir the darkness when Ithildin was awoken by a harsh cry. It was the cry of a wolf, and no ordinary one. The cry was answered by another and then another until a chorus of wolf cries filled the night. Ithildin stood up and in the shadows she could see many pairs of yellow eyes. She stumbled and backed away. Wolves, servants of the Dark Lord, surrounded her. There were at least six in the front and she could not count the number behind them. They snarled and howled and all the air was filled with their harsh breath. 

Landalë awoke, reared, and raced in front of Ithildin to protect her. Before she could stop him, he had charged towards the leader of the wolves with a cry. The wolf leapt up into the air to meet him and they struggled and fought. But the power of Sauron's servants was greater than a horse's, and with a last cry of anguish, a fatal blow was delivered and Landalë laid his silver head to rest. Ithildin came quickly to his side, but the great horse was dead. Her tears flowed hot and swift down her cheeks, but an anger burned within her that was more powerful than her sorrow.

She turned to face the wolves, and they stared back at her with hateful eyes. There was an energy flowing through her veins and it filled her with light and warmth. She lifted her head towards the stars and allowed it to engulf her. A light began to emanate from her, a great white light that was almost blinding. Her deep eyes flashed and her silver hair shone. But the wolves were not so easily cowed. They growled and hissed at her until she spoke.

"Begone, foul servants of the East. You have killed my steed and torn apart my heart. Return to your Dark Lord and _never trouble me again!_"

Her voice was mighty and powerful and she walked slowly into the circle of wolves. Each step she took, the light about her grew stronger and the wolves saw that she could not be defeated. They retreated in fear and ran off into the night. Ithildin watched them go, not with joy, but with relief. The light faded and she returned to her normal self. But she was not herself! For something had overcome her just then and finally, she was made aware of the force growing within her. Why had she called these wolves servants of the East? How could she known that? And she was most disturbed at the change that had overcome her. She had felt the power surging through her blood and it had almost consumed her. She had looked into the hearts of the wolves and seen their evil purpose, but how, she did not know. The stone of mithril was heavy once again and finally she acknowledged its weight. There were questions that needed answering, and she had but one person to turn to: the white wizard whom Grima had called Saruman. 

Ithildin spent the rest of that long, cold night creating a proper burial for her faithful horse. When she was done, she lay upon the mound, a leaf of the herb she had used in her stew, for it was all she could find to put upon it. "Farewell, loyal Landalë," she whispered through fresh tears. Then, she packed up her possessions. She had no horse, the road back to Edoras would be impossible, for it had been difficult to journey even with a horse. Isengard was naught but a few days' journey away and there, Saruman awaited her. So, she turned her thoughts to the North, and did not know that her journey became more perilous that night.


	11. In Isengard

            The days were cold and windy. Weariness overcame Ithildin and often she found herself unable to think clearly. She had on only a light tunic over her dress and nothing more, for the weather had been very pleasant until she journeyed to the Ford of Isen. The land was not pleasant to look at it, for it seemed as if an evil hand had touched it and all about her were things dead and dying. The Misty Mountains loomed like great, terrible barriers to her right. The land was not flat, but rolled up and down and tired her greatly.

            So it was that when she reached the gates of Isengard, she was surprised at how lush and beautiful the country within looked. Green was the grass as far as the eye could see. Mighty were the trees and though they were naked from the winter frost, they were splendid to behold. The air had been chilly, but when she crossed into Isengard, it was warm and fragrant with the scent of flowers. Paths were cleared for travelers, though she could not see a soul. Far off in the distance loomed a large, dark tower. At its tip were four great arcs that curved in. A great staircase wound itself around the tower and there was a high balcony. The steps to this tower were many and the doors were dark. None of the afternoon sunlight seemed to touch this dark tower, yet Ithildin felt compelled to go to it. Perhaps this was where Saruman the White dwelt.

            Scarcely, had she taken a step towards it when the mithril stone began to grow heavy. At first, she did not notice it, but when the tower was less than a hundred feet from her, she began to feel a light weight on her neck. She undid the necklace and held it in front of her, examining the stone. It glowed with a silver light in the afternoon sun, yet its change in weight could not be ignored. Ithildin hesitated. She recalled Galadriel's words, but at the same time, she knew she could not leave Isengard without having her questions answered. She was torn.

            At that moment, the doors to the tower opened and out stepped a man. Tall he was, and majestic looking for his robes were a brilliant white. His beard was white as well, long and flowing as was his hair. He carried a staff in the shape of the tower and in it glowed a light. Ithildin stared at him, fascinated, for this must surely be the great Saruman. The wizard saw her as well, and beckoned for her to come. Ithildin forgot about the heavy mithril stone, put it in her bag and walked slowly over to the great tower.

            It seemed that the wizard spoke to her in her mind. His voice was soothing and calm, almost musical. Ithildin felt her initial apprehension fade away.

            '_Welcome, Lady of Mindon Enedh. You have journeyed far to meet me and your questions will not go unanswered. Come now, and enter the great tower of Orthanc. There, you may rest and learn much about yourself.'_

            Ithildin reached the steps of the great tower. Saruman descended and came to her side. Without another word, he took her arm lightly and brought her into the tower. The doors closed behind them with an ominous sound that echoed throughout the corridors of the tower. Inside, the halls were dim and lit only with sunlight that drifted from windows high above. Saruman led her down many passages that twisted and turned so that she became quite confused after a while. Finally, she was brought inside a room with many books and scrolls. 

            "This is my study, where much of my knowledge is found," said the wizard, speaking for the first time. "I will pour you something to drink and then you may ask me what you wish. Grima has told me of your peril and I will help you if I can."

            Ithildin accepted the drink gratefully, for she had had little too drink since leaving the Ford. The liquid was warm and smelled of flowers and filled her with renewed strength. "I do indeed have many questions that need answering. But first, I want to know why I was not greeted by messengers at the Ford of Isen."

            Saruman sighed. "That is news that disturbs me as well. I waited long for your arrival and when you did not come when I expected, I grew worried. I do not know what happened. I can only predict that the creatures who sought for you in Edoras found the messengers before you did."

            "Who are these creatures that seek me?" asked Ithildin, desperately.

            Saruman looked at her and his face was drawn and tense. "I will tell you," he said.


	12. Questions and Answers

"They are the Nine, servants of the Lord of Mordor. Many years ago, when the world was much younger, they were great kings of Men. That is until the Dark Lord Sauron gave them each a ring of power. They were blinded by their lust for power, for the hearts of Men are the easiest to fall prey to evil. The rings, tainted by the evil of Sauron, enslaved them and they became the Nazgûl, or Ringwraiths, destined to do the Dark Lord's bidding for all eternity." Saruman paused, for he noted that Ithildin had become quite still.

            "These…These creatures who seek me…They are servants of the Dark Lord?" Ithildin gasped.

            "Yes, and it is very fortunate that you escaped them before they could find you."

            "They are not the only servants, are they? I was attacked by wolves at the Ford of Isen and my instincts told me that they too were there at the bidding of the Lord of Mordor."

            "He has many spies and many servants. The Ringwraiths are one; these wolves that you speak of—wargs—are another. His army is made up of Orcs: fallen Elves that were tortured and mutilated and then bred by the thousands in their ruined forms. Right now, the Dark Lord is gathering as much information as he can. He has not yet taken physical shape, but each day, his power grows and his Eye searches for that which he lost centuries ago: The One Ring that could enslave all of Middle-Earth. He knows not what happened to it, but his spies will find out soon. My heart forebodes that his power will be greater than any others' in Middle-Earth: more powerful than the Elves, than the strength of Men, more powerful even than the Istari. I fear that those who oppose him will fall in their defiance." 

A strange glint came into Saruman's eyes when he said this and Ithildin was struck by a sense of warning. There was more to this wizard than he was letting on. A feeling of unease had begun to grow in her when she stepped into Orthanc, but now it intensified. She should not be here. Suddenly, a thought flashed in her mind: '_He is not what he seems. You have walked into a trap. Saruman is on his side_' and Ithildin knew it to be true.

She stood up. "I thank you for your help. My questions have been answered and I am indebted with gratitude." 

But she could not escape so easily. Saruman stood up as well and when she had almost left the study, he spoke again in her mind. _'But you seek more than just these answers. Do you not, after all, wish to know your past? I can tell you everything and then you will know all there is to know about yourself.'_

She hesitated. Her curiosity had been piqued. She had lied to Galadriel when she told her that her past did not concern her. It did. She had wanted for so long to know who her parents were, how she came to be and where her real home was. Was that not, after all, why she had undertaken this journey? Curiosity overcame fear and she turned back to Saruman.

"Can you really tell me all this?" she asked.

Saruman nodded. "Come with me," he said and he led her out the study. They walked down the passage and then, into a chamber with many doors that led to other halls. In the center of the chamber was a pedestal and the top of it was covered with a black cloth. Yet, there was something underneath the cloth, something round with a sphere-like shape. Ithildin stood at the doorway, but Saruman went ahead and walked towards the pedestal. He removed the black cloth and underneath was a brilliant black ball. It looked to be made of crystal, or glass, and it glowed with a pale light from within.

"This is a palantír," said Saruman. "It may reveal anything, all of which are true. Look into it and you shall find all your questions answered."


	13. A Blindfold Removed

Ithildin started towards the pedestal, but before she reached it, a thought flashed through her mind.

_Do not look into the palantir_! 

The thought was so urgent that she stopped in her tracks. It occurred to her now that a change had come over Saruman. No longer did he appear open or welcoming. His eyes glowed with an evil anticipation, and the hand that clutched his staff was tense. The expression on his face was malice disguised as friendliness. This was a trap.

"No!" she cried. "I will not look into that! It is evil!" She stepped back.

"Why do you recoil in fear?" asked Saruman and there was a hard edge to his voice. But suddenly, he seemed to hear himself. He stopped and took a deep breath. When finally he spoke, his voice was musical once again. "I would not lead you astray," he said softly. "You came to me, and I treated you as an old friend. I want only to help you."

Ithildin was no longer deceived. "You use your voice to trick me, but I will not be fooled. You are in allegiance with the Dark Lord!"

Then the mask was taken off and Saruman was revealed in all his miserable treachery. "You fool," he spat. "That a power so great should grow within you is the evilest of all paradoxes. You do not know how to use it and you would let it go to waste. It would wither and die within you, never being allowed to grow to its full potential."

"So you would ensnare me; trick me into looking into the palantír. Yet, you are nothing more than a puppet. You do the bidding of the Lord of Mordor, but you are no more important to him than the lowest Orc!" Ithildin's sweet voice was tinged with mockery.

Then Saruman was filled with wrath and he took up his staff. "I will not be mocked by a mere mortal!" he cried in fury and from his staff emanated a force that would have blown down a tree. Yet Ithildin stood still in her place and only her hair was blown away. Saruman lowered his staff and stared at her in wonder. Never had anyone been able to withstand the power of the white wizard. 

"Embrace the power of the Lord of the Rings," he said. "Or you will embrace death!"

"No!" said Ithildin and in her eyes glowed a fire that would not be smothered. She turned and fled the chamber. The passages were long and dark and she knew not where she was going, but still she ran. In the distance, Saruman let out a great yell and it was answered from all corners of the tower. Horrible was the response and it filled the halls with terror. Ithildin shuddered and continued to run. Up ahead, she could make out two large doors. Were they…? Yes, they were the doors leading out of the tower! With a sigh that became a sob, she burst through the doors and fled down the steps.

At the bottom, she paused and turned for one brief second. That was when she heard it: Footsteps. Hundreds of footsteps that resonated from the tower. They marched the way an army marched and there was the distinct clang of metal. Above the sound rose a voice and it was Saruman's: _Find her and destroy her!_

Then the doors of the tower opened and out marched hideous creatures. Their faces were distorted and evil and ugly. Ithildin ran. The orcs saw her and with a great cry, they began to pursue her. Her terror rose and she pushed herself to run harder, but it was no use. She was already short of breath and she would not be able to make it. Then suddenly, a surge of power ran through her and she found that her feet were light as feathers. It was almost as if she was flying! Her speed doubled and the orcs, quick as they were, lost sight of her. 

Ithildin did not stop until she passed the gates of Isengard. There, she stood a moment to catch her breath. What could she do now? Where could she go? She was not safe in Edoras, nor anywhere south now that the servants of the Dark Lord's were aware of her. She must go east and north. Yet, she knew she could not go to Lothlórien and risk danger to that fair realm. She must go past it, even further north. Yes, she would travel north and follow the Great River Anduin. Where it took her, she did not know.


	14. Of the Woodland Realm

            It was many moons ago when Mithrandir last visited Thranduil, King of Mirkwood. Mithrandir had been quite busy, for the fate of the world was not a light task and Thranduil had had many demons of his own to fight when the shadow of the East touched his beautiful home.

            So it was not surprising that Thranduil was filled with delight when Iorkann, the leader of the guards of Galadhnass in southern Mirkwood, arrived at his palace and told him that a strange Man arrived bearing news from the grey wizard. The man was taken to Thranduil and introduced himself as Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Tall he was, and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and grey eyes. His face was grim, as if the years of the world had not been too kind to him and his clothes were dirty and travel-worn. Moments after he was greeted by Thranduil, several Elves arrived with a very strange looking creature. The creature resembled a halfling in size and physique, yet his features were distorted, his hair limp and his skin slimy. Thranduil looked at the creature with surprise and loathing.

            "What is this creature that you bring to me, Aragorn son of Arathorn?" he asked.

            Aragorn bowed before responding. "His name is Gollum and I searched long and hard, across many lands before finally capturing him in the wastelands beyond this fair forest. I was told that if he could be found, he should be taken to the Woodland Elves of Mirkwood, for their prisons are strong and their guards ever watchful."

            Thranduil was startled. "Who told you this?" he inquired.

            "None other than Gandalf the grey, Mithrandir in your tongue."

            A collective gasp went through the chamber, for this was a most unusual request of Gandalf. Still, Thranduil saw no sign of deceit or trickery in the stranger's eyes. "Very well," he said, "I will hold this prisoner for a while, though I know not the reason why. It is long since we have had any use for our dungeons below, but I promise to take good care of this creature if that is your wish."

            "Not mine," replied Aragorn, "But that of Gandalf's. For you know well, wise Thranduil, of the war that is slowly brewing from the East. A dark power is stirring and much of Middle-Earth will change forever."

            "Yes," said Thranduil and his fair face was troubled. "The shadow of the East long ago touched our woods, turning much of our beloved trees into ashes. My people fear to journey south, and the world now looks upon my kingdom as a dark and terrible place. But it was not always like this."

            Sympathetic was Aragorn. "No, it was not," he agreed. "I remember how fair this land once was. A joy to my heart and to the hearts of many who strolled through these beautiful forests. How pleasant was the laughter of the elf children and the stars shone bright with the songs of the Elves. But I must make haste and tell you all that I can. You must keep Gollum here until Gandalf arrives. He desires to question this creature, for he suspects that there is much that Gollum knows. But until Gandalf arrives, take good care of him and neither treat him too kindly, nor too unkindly, for you will find that he is a most pitiable creature."

            "I shall do as you request though there is much that I do not understand," said Thranduil.

            "All will be answered when Gandalf arrives. Now, I must leave, for though I should have liked to have stayed a bit in your kingdom, there is much work elsewhere to be done." And with that, Aragorn left and Thranduil took Gollum and treated him as kindly as pity allowed. Mithrandir arrived as promised many weeks later and many days he spent with Gollum alone, questioning and probing him. The Elves wondered at this, but Thranduil did not, for Mithrandir told him much. On the last day of his stay in Mirkwood, Mithrandir took Thranduil aside to speak with him.

            "I must return to the home of the halflings, for I have learnt more from this creature than I desired. Yet, I need him still, so I ask of you one more favor: Keep Gollum a while longer. My heart tells me that he will play a pivotal part in the time to come. I shall return as soon as I can and perhaps then, my words will not be so mysterious." It was quite possibly the closest Gandalf had ever come to apologizing for his riddles. 


	15. Across the River Anduin

            Ithildin scanned the eastern shore. It was not more than a league wide from where she stood, but the current was swift and strong. The afternoon sunlight ebbed low to her right, the North, a fiery golden ball dipped in silver water. The air was cool and a light breeze fanned the trees behind her. A new moon edged its way over the sky, patiently awaiting the descent of the sun before making its appearance. Somewhere off in the distance, a bird chirped, but the evening drew near and soon it stopped.

            Many weeks had passed since she had fled Isengard. For a long time, she wandered north and in her heart was a sick feeling. She felt cold and exposed, not knowing that this was how one felt when being sought after by the Eye of Sauron. But time could be an ally in some ways and the feeling began to pass after many weeks as news of the Ring-bearer came to Sauron and Saruman concentrated his energies on the destruction of Isengard. Nonetheless, Ithildin was much wiser than she had been when she set foot out of Mindon Enedh, and she was all the better for it.

            Now, she watched the shore across the Great Anduin, pondering a way to get across. Some thought had crossed her mind lately and ever it whispered the same thing: _Cross the river_. Having trusted that voice to save her life in Isengard, Ithildin did not question it. The problem, of course, was getting across. Anduin flowed swift and it would be impossible to swim across. She would have to build a boat, but how, for she was not skilled in the ways of boats. Ithildin decided, finally, that she was too weary to make a proper decision. She would rest and decide tomorrow.

            Ithildin awoke feeling refreshed. Yes, the decision to sleep had been a good one. It seemed that as she had slept, she had discovered a way, in her dreams, to build a strong raft. So she arose and went away from the shore, into the forest behind her in search of the pile of fallen timber that had appeared in her dream. After ten minutes, she came across it: it lay in a dell some 200 feet away from the shore. The wood was strong; perhaps hewed from fallen oak trees. Ithildin lifted up a few logs and was surprised at how light they were. 

She brought them back to the shore and laid them upon the rocks. They were about five feet in length, and would bound nicely with strong creeper. Carefully, she placed stones upon them so that they would not roll away, and off she went in search of anything that was similar to rope. At the foot of a low summit, she came upon a vast acre of fallen vines. They were no longer green and no life flowed through then, yet strong they remained in texture, and Ithildin could not tear at them with stone. She pulled together as much as she could carry and, along with the sharpest stones she could find, brought them to where the logs lay.

Then, she began the tiresome task of binding the logs together. She worked late into the day, barely stopping for food and rest. At last, the raft was completed, and a paddle was fashioned from an extra log. Ithildin tested it upon the western shore, rowing 3 leagues, before returning to where she had stood. The raft was all right. Gathering her pack, she surveyed the land on the western shore one last time before stepping on her small, flat boat. It was not difficult rowing to the other side, for though the current was swift, the water was shallow. After about half an hour, she reached the other side. There, she disassembled her raft and buried the creeper in the ground, hoping the earth would turn it into rich soil. The logs, she placed by the shore, knowing the river would carry them away.

When the task was done, she hoisted her pack and continued her way up north and east. The land was barren and plain, and hardly any vegetation grew on this side of the river. Yet, still her heart continued to urge her on and as if there was some secret party awaiting her that only she did not know of. 


	16. Into the Wild

            Eventually, the barren landscape gave way to lusher scenery. Trees began to appear; birds called out from high above and the browns and greys faded to golds and greens. The ground became easier to walk upon as the hard, cracked ground was filled with rich, soft earth. Ithildin breathed deeply and the green smell was like a cool drink after a long draught.

            She journeyed many miles and did not stop often. As each day passed, the feeling within her to press on grew stronger. She needed little rest; the Lórien Elves had baked her many loaves of a sweet Elvish waybread called _lembas_ as a parting gift, and in the cakes, she found all the sustenance she needed to go on. Everyday, the sun glowed against a creamy blue sky, its soft rays touching the whispering grass beneath her feet as pale, little flowers danced to the music of a gentle breeze. The world around her became filled with magic and the wonder of nature and finally, Ithildin was content at heart.

            Soon, she approached the western border of a great forest. It stretched many leagues, as far as the eye could see. Entering it, Ithildin was filled with a sense of peace and welcoming such as she had never felt before. Not since Lothlórien had trees seemed so beautiful and felt so alive. Here, they grew dense and thick, and they were not golden as the mallorn trees; their leaves were greener than the greenest green and their great trunks were snow white tinged with silver. Tiny squirrels and chipmunks raced from branch to branch, and off in the distance, one could hear the soft babbles of a million streams. The golden light of the sun filtered in through a vast canopy of leaves warming even the remotest corners of the forest.

            Such was the realm of Mirkwood, for in its glory days, it had been a safe, beautiful haven for the woodland Elves. Now, the shadows of the East had destroyed its southern counterpart, and the Elves had fled to the north, though their territory grew ever limited as the darkness spread. Yet, of all the Elven homes of Middle-Earth, here the Elves were most content, desiring not to sail across the Sea to the Blessed Realm beyond, as the Elves of Lórien and Rivendell did. For the time of the Elves was nearing to an end, and very soon, much of the beauty and majesty they had brought to Middle-Earth would fade as they themselves departed from the Great Lands.

            Bilbo, the adventuring hobbit, had once entered Mirkwood from the west and in his day, the woods had seemed dark and dangerous. Since then, though, the Elves of the forest had driven out much of the evil in Mirkwood and spread their realm further west. As well, Ithildin rarely saw darkness when there was the possibility of light; so she did not see Mirkwood as a lonely, dangerous place as others did, but saw the works of the Elves and the gentle nature around her. She found much to sing about in this land and her clear, sweet voice echoed throughout the woods, scaring away the spiders and the flies, for they disliked anything of beauty and were afraid of this strange silver woman. Often, she sang in Elvish, for she had learned much in Lothlórien of the Elven-tongue, and always, the power of knowledge within her grew. Perhaps it was her singing that saved her from being killed by the guards of Mirkwood, but most likely it was her kind heart and gentle soul that could be sensed from far away.

            As it was, after many days of wandering about the woods, Ithildin came upon an area that seemed more densely populated. Here, the presence of living creatures could be felt more keenly, but not just of woodland creatures. There was other life here and its magic could be seen and felt everywhere. Softly tread her feet, but the guards of Mirkwood had long since been aware of her presence. Iorkann, the leader of a troop stationed close to where Ithildin had wandered, now made himself known. A soft rustle was heard and Ithildin turned to it. There, she saw many Elves, all facing her. Their faces were fair as the Lórien Elves, but some of them had hair that was dark and rich, not golden and light. Their clothing was different from the Lórien Elves as well, for it was very green, similar to the color of the leaves. They each carried with them a long bow and a quiver of arrows upon their backs. Iorkann stepped forward and spoke now to Ithildin.


	17. Out of the Wild

            "_Mae govannen, Ithildin Brethilmin_," he said.

            Ithildin was startled. She had never met this strange elf; how did he know so much about her? He welcomed her in the Elvish tongue, thus implying that he knew much about her.

            "_Anírion iston le_," she replied, quite boldly.

            The elf laughed. "We are the guards of Mirkwood. I am Iorkann, the chief guardian of the woods."

            "How do you know me?" she asked in surprise.

            "We have listened to you for many days now. At first, we were quite willing to shoot first and ask questions later, for we take no chances with strangers in our land. But we became quite taken with your voice and the creatures of the woods bade us give you a chance. However, we cannot allow you to journey further, for now you must be taken to our king, Thranduil. Come, it is not an easy path, for the way to Thranduil's palace is hidden from outsiders."

            They walked off the path and into the forest. The trees began to thin as they walked further east and the late afternoon sunlight poured through above. At one point, they had to journey by boat across a small pond. "Do not touch the water, for it is an enchanted stream," warned Iorkann. When they reached the other side, they continued on foot until finally, they reached a river. There was a great bridge built across it and it was the only way to cross the river. On the other side were large gates and enclosed within those gates was the palace of Thranduil. The entrance led into a vast mountain and much of the passages were like well-polished caves. Ithildin became quite confused by the winding and twisting passages and was grateful to be led by Iorkann. After much walking, they entered a great hall with pillars carved out of stone and walls glittering with jewels. There, on a throne of carven wood sat Thranduil, King of Mirkwood.

            He was an old and wise elf and much beloved by his people. His face was fairer beyond the description of our language, his hair golden as pale sunlight and atop his head was a crown of woodland flowers. He regarded Ithildin with much interest for something in his wise heart foretold that she would have much to do with his realm.

            "What brings you to my kingdom?" asked Thranduil.

            Ithildin bowed, as was the custom when addressing a king. "I bring only a peaceful heart and good intentions. I have journeyed far and met many creatures, both good and evil and seen places that were beautiful and places that were ugly. I have the favor of the Lady of the Wood, if you doubt my words. But through my many adventures, I have carried with me only a single desire: To find a place I may call my home and love it with as much love as can be possible."

            At that Thranduil smiled, for he knew all to well how it felt to love one's home. "We do not doubt your words, Lady of Silver Moonlight. My subjects, who are invisible to strangers, have told me much about you. You come from a land that is almost forgotten. I see in your face that the shadows of the East have not left you untouched, but you have defeated it for now. Come now, my men will take you to a room where you may rest and tonight, we shall have a feast in your honour. For it is rare that we entertain outsiders, but I sense that you will bring nothing but happiness to my kingdom. It is a pity that my son, Legolas is away on business, for he would be most delighted to meet you. Ah, well, we shall have to make do without him."

            With that, Ithildin was escorted by two elves and led through many more twisting corridors, to a room that was not small and was not large, and had a fireplace in the center wrought of stone and coal. Soon, more elves came in with warm, thick blankets for her bed and clean clothes for her to wear. They also gave her a crown of white rosebuds to wear upon her silver hair and a necklace of woodland flowers such as Thranduil wore. They were kind and interested in her stories. When it was time for the feast, they led her out of the palace and across the river, into the forest once again where there was much merrymaking for the rest of the evening.


	18. A Chance Meeting

            Ithildin grew to love Mirkwood more than Lothlórien and she had not thought that possible. Lórien was a beautiful land, but even she had felt its magic fading. Mirkwood on the other hand, was of a quiet beauty and its people were merry for the most part. Thranduil was kind to her; kinder in fact, than he had been to most of the strangers that had wandered into his realm in the past years. The Mirkwood elves had good reason to be suspicious: Much of their beautiful home had been taken by the Dark Lord, who had set up fortresses and dungeons, and dirtied the clean air with his foul stench. In previous years, high screams of torture could be heard from down south and the elves shuddered and did not like to think what might be happening.

            Ithildin was content to spend her days in the forests singing and dreaming, but that is not to say she did not enjoy the company of the other elves. During meals, they would talk and laugh, and she would tell them stories about Mindon Enedh and they in turn would tell her stories of Mirkwood. For the elves of Thranduil's realm were not descended from the High Elves of the West, and their ways of life were much simpler and easier to appreciate. Many of them lived in small huts and houses upon the edge of the forest and spent their days hunting. But they were as loyal as any High Elf, and possessed much the same grace and beauty. They loved their home as much as the Lórien elves and their love was not tinged with sadness.

            It happened one day that Ithildin was alone in a rather remote, southern part of the woods. She had decided to stray from the path and explore the area. The afternoon was young and soft sunlight filtered through the leaves high above, making the silver in her hair shine. She had strung a small wreath of juniper berries upon her head and wore a simple lavender dress that the elves had given her. She was feeling quite content at that moment and was inspired to sing a song she had often sung:

_The trees are singing and nothing mars_

_Their dance of joy with the stars_

_What could be lovelier than this_

_To hear of trees and see their bliss_

_The trees! The trees! How lovely they are_

_My home! My home! Oh how I journey far_

            Her clear voice echoed throughout the forest and birds stopped to listen. She had sung the song once, and was about to sing it again, when a strange feeling overcame her. She was being watched. Ithildin ceased her singing and turned around slowly. Standing, not more than a hundred feet from her, was an elf. She had never seen him before, but something told her he belonged to Thranduil's realm. His face was fair, fairer than any she had seen, save Celeborn and Galadriel. His hair was golden; soft and silky. He wore a grey cloak over a soft green tunic that was the color of the leaves upon the trees she stood beside. On his back were a long slender bow and a quiver of arrows. He regarded her with an expression of wonder and curiosity and his eyes were bright and blue.

            Ithildin stared back, fascinated by this beautiful elf. A spell of a sort seemed to come over her, rooting her to the ground, disabling her from doing anything except breathe. After a moment, the elf began to walk towards her and she found that she could not move nor speak. The distance between them closed and he reached out his hand to touch her. At that moment, the spell broke, a thought flashed in her head not to let him near her, and she ran, quicker than the breeze away from the stranger that had stirred her heart.__


	19. An Evening of Merriment

            The evening drew near when Ithildin headed back towards the palace. For many hours, she had wandered about the forest trying to forget about her strange encounter, and though she had met with little success, finally, she had found some peace of mind. There was the sound of laughter emanating from the bridge across the river and Ithildin saw with surprise, many elves leaving the palace gates and crossing the bridge. Still more were already up ahead, setting up in the north many tables and chairs and food and drink. 

Ithildin joined the crowd heading north and was greeted with warmth. She asked the elves what was happening and they told her that Thranduil was holding a feast to celebrate the return of his son, Legolas and the other elves. They had been away for quite some time and all of Mirkwood had missed them. Now, Thranduil was up ahead busying himself with the preparations and the evening promised nothing but laughter and merriment. 

The excitement was quite contagious and soon Ithildin found herself quite eager to meet the prince of Mirkwood. When all the elves had reached their destination, she looked around for Thranduil. For a while, she could not see him, for a whirlwind of activity was about her. Elves were hanging lanterns about the trees, and stringing tiny bouquets of berries and flowers to each branch. Many were spreading out tablecloths of a silken texture, others were placing baskets of food among the numerous tables and still others were singing or playing instruments of beautiful sound.

Finally, she saw Thranduil at the far end of the field. He was conversing with Iorkann and some other elves. Carefully, she made her way through the buzzing activity. When she approached the king, he saw her and smiled. He came to her and his face was aglow with happiness such as she had never seen before. 

"_Elen síla lumen omentilmo_," he said with a smile.

"_Le gelir aen_," she replied.

Iorkann came to her side. "He is happy with good reason for our prince has returned!"

"Yes," said Thranduil, "And the sight of my son fills me with more joy than ever imaginable. I sent him on a most dangerous errand and did not expect he should return. He was to journey as far down south as he could, to find news about the land of the East. There is evil stirring in the south and we do not like it. Ever since the arrival of Mithrandir and that strange creature Gollum, we have become quite weary of the land about us. My son and his friends have returned and though the news that they bring is not good, they have returned and that is what matters most."

At that moment, a shadow fell over Ithildin and she saw Thranduil look behind her with an expression of delight and said, "Ithildin, here is Legolas, my son who has returned."

With that, Ithildin turned and her heart leapt to her throat. Standing before her was the strange elf she had met in the woods only hours before. He was more beautiful than before, clothed in great silver with tiny leaves of ivy adorned in his hair. He looked at her with eyes that reflected her surprise, but other than that, his expression did not change. He smiled at her and when he spoke, his voice was soft music. "I have heard much about you, Lady Ithildin. My father speaks of you with great reverence."

Ithildin did not know quite how to reply, and when she turned to Thranduil, she found that he had left and Iorkann as well. Alone she stood with the elven prince and something fluttered in her heart. "Perhaps," she replied, "But your father speaks of you with much adoration. If ever I had desired to meet someone through another's tales, it is you."

And with that, their souls were touched and remained linked forever. He took her hand and together, they walked to the tables of the great feast. When the evening grew late, they wandered away into the woods until they found a fallen tree stump. There they sat for many hours and talked as no two have ever talked before. They shared heartaches and happiness, joys and sorrows, stories of hope and courage. He told her of the many wonders of Middle-Earth that she had yet to see and she told him of her years in Mindon Enedh. When finally they returned to the palace, they bade farewell to one another and both slept that night, more content than they had ever been


	20. The Footsteps of Doom

            "It is a lovely day today," said Legolas. "The air is crisp and warm, the birds sing their sweet songs and the boughs of the trees dance in the wind. Quite a nice day, in fact, to practice a bit of archery."

            Ithildin sat by him in front of a tiny stream. "Does the weather affect your practices?" she inquired.

            Legolas laughed. "No, but in the clear light of day, a target is much easier to find."

            "Well," said Ithildin, "You may fire your sticks as long as you want. I am off to do something more productive."

            Legolas caught her hand as she stood up. His expression was both comical and serious. "You mean, you have not learned the skill of archery?" he asked.

            "I have had no use for it," was her reply.

            "Come," said Legolas, "I will teach it to you then."

            He led her away from the stream, into a small opening in the forest. On a branch about a foot above her head in a tree some thirty feet away, he placed a small chunk of wood. It stood on the branch directly in front of the trunk of the tree. Then, he picked up his own bow and an arrow from his quiver that he had left by her side. He gave her the bow and she looked at it in wonder. 

            Legolas stood by her side and showed her how to hold the bow properly. When that was done, he gave her the arrow. All the while, he spoke softly into her ear and instructed her on how to fire properly. "Don't be afraid that you will miss the target. There are two trees behind the one before you that will catch your arrow if you should miss. Of course, that is provided that you are not _too_ off target!" he teased.

            Ithildin threw him a look of mock contempt and then, without another word, shot the arrow. It pierced the wood dead center. Then, quick as lightning, she retrieved two more arrows from his quiver and shot them at the same time. One pierced the wood in the center at the top, the other, at the bottom center. All three were in perfect alignment. Legolas stared at her in amazement. "I thought you did not know about archery," he asked, stunned.

            She grinned. "I said I had no use for it…I did not say I was not learned of the skill."

            It was a fine trick she played on him and he knew it. With a laugh he took her hand and together they raced back to the stream. When they were once again at the rock they had sat upon, he regarded her seriously. "What else is there about you that I do not know?" he asked.

            "That depends," she replied, "On what it is you wish to know."

            He took her hand and his bright eyes deepened. The air about them changed; things grew soft and quiet. A gentle spell of peace wound its way between them and Ithildin's soul was touched. Legolas looked at her in the soft afternoon light and knew that he would never look upon one so fair and beautiful again. "If I could," he said softly, "I would look into your very soul and know all that makes you happy."

            And with that, Ithildin's heart overflowed. She told him of Saruman and Isengard; of the wargs; of her loss of Landalë, her only companion; of her desperate and unsuccessful search to find a home that she might grow to love and of the strange force that grew within her that she seemed to have no control over. All this she poured out to Legolas her friend and he listened patiently and did not interrupt. When at length she finished, he took her into his arms and held her until her tears subsided and she lay against his shoulder, content. 

            "I do not promise to understand all that you have told me," he said quietly. "But I will fight by your side against all the evil in this world until I can fight no more. You need not fear the dark so long as I am here to hold a light."

            "I know," she whispered. "I would not leave your side if the very shadow of the East threatened to tear us apart. But now, the day grows old and we should return. My heart tells me that something is brewing and I do not wish to be away from your father or your people."

            Legolas heeded her words, for often, she spoke of things that were true. They walked back to the palace and for many days nothing happened. One day, Thranduil watched them leave the palace and in his face was an expression of sorrow. Iorkann noted this and asked him what the matter was. Thranduil turned to him and smiled sadly. "I have had my son for longer than I could imagine and he has been nothing but a joy and a blessing to me. I knew one day that I would have to let him go. Yet, knowing this has not softened the blow to my heart. He is not mine any longer, Iorkann. He belongs to Ithildin, and she to him. Already I miss him."

            And Iorkann saw something that he had not seen before and would never see again: A tear slid down Thranduil's fair face.


	21. Attack at Nightfall

            It was an unusually warm day in June when Gollum decided to be a nuisance. For many weeks, the weather had been fair and his guards had taken to allowing him to roam about the forest during the day, for Thranduil's people were very civil and kind even to their worst enemies. In particular, there was a tall tree that Gollum liked to climb. It had many branches; some as low as waist-length and others that stretched high above the ground. The tree was the tallest in Mirkwood, and was, in fact, one Ithildin had stood next to when she had first met Legolas.

            Gollum climbed up the tree on this unusually warm June day and refused to climb down. For many hours, the elves tried to coax him down, but he would not and remained atop the highest branch. Now, the woodland elves have a deep love for nature; but his guards had no mind to climb up the tree after him. So, they remained stationed at its foot from afternoon until night, and yet, as the evening drew nigh, Gollum still refused to come down.

            Ithildin met Legolas in Thranduil's hall and there was a look of distress in his fair face. "What is the matter?" she asked him.

            "Gollum has climbed up his favorite tree, but refuses to come down. His guards have grown weary and we do not know what to do." With that, Legolas turned and continued down the hall. Ithildin watched him leave, troubled, and then suddenly, a thought flashed in her mind: _Prepare for the dark_. Such an urgent warning she had never felt; even in Orthanc under Saruman's control and she turned to stop Legolas, but already he was gone. Troubled by this strange premonition, she hastened out of the palace and towards the tree where Gollum waited. When she reached the tree, she bade the guards leave and rest for a bit. They were much obliged and accepted her offer kindly. Ithildin looked up into the tree, but already, the sky was ebony and the stars and moon were hidden. She would not have known that Gollum was up there had it not been for his strange, ragged breathing.

            Legolas was conversing with his father when Iorkann and another guard, Meldir, rushed to their side. They looked very weary and were quite out of breath. When finally, they were able to speak, Meldir said, "We apologize for disrupting your conversation, King Thranduil, but some of the guards on the eastern border have seen a most horrific site: Goblins, or orcs as they are now called, and hundreds perhaps even thousands of them are massing in the east. They carry many torches, weapons and banners and wear armor such as we have never seen. I am not sure, but I suspect they come from the unnamable land in the East and their purpose has something to do with that wretched, troublesome creature Gollum."

            Though Thranduil was stunned long had a shadow and a threat been growing in his mind. Quickly, he gave orders. "Send as many guards we can spare to the eastern front. They shall be clothed in our finest mail and we will spare no weapon. Station them on both sides of the Forest River at our guard posts. We will not be caught unawares. Legolas, you shall lead them, for I will need Iorkann." 

Suddenly, another guard appeared and his news was even more distressing. "Sire, goblin troops are massing in the south as well and they are thirsty for blood. There is no doubt now, that this attack is being made for Gollum's escape." At this, Thranduil's face became grim and he gave out more orders for troops to be stationed in the south along the western shore of the Forest River. Just then, Legolas' eyes became bright with worry. "Ithildin!" he cried. "Where is she?" But at that moment, a great cry rose from the east. There was no time to hesitate. Thranduil gave his son a push. "You must hope that she is safe!" he cried to his son. And with that, Legolas had no choice but to head the elves in the east.

Ithildin was not unprepared either, for after the trick she had played on Legolas, he had given her a long, beautiful Mirkwood bow and a quiver of dark green arrows. So it was that her keen ears picked up the sounds of battle not long after Iorkann and Meldir arrived at the palace. She saw the soft lights of the torches and heard the battle cries. She also heard something the others did not: Gollum's shriek as he raced down the tree. But she had no time to capture him; the enemy would soon be up the hill. She turned and raced back towards the palace, but she had not gone far when she met a vast army of elves being led by Iorkann. "What is going on?" she asked.

"Enemies from the South, no doubt, here to recapture that wretch Gollum," said Iorkann. And with that, the elves aligned themselves across the Forest River and destroyed its only bridge as soon as Ithildin had crossed. Then, they drew their great bows and arrows and prepared for battle. Ithildin took up her position beside Iorkann and they waited. Soon, the enemy appeared and lo, they were orcs of many different races; but all hideous and horrible. Their faces were aglow with bloodlust and their hands carried weapons of all sorts. They were only temporarily foiled by the river, for they had expected it and many of them began to cross its shallow waters all the same. The defense was quick and many arrows found a mark. But the orcs outnumbered the elves and soon, they crossed the river and were on the other side. They attacked and slowly, the elves were driven back.

Ithildin slew an orc with her bow and when it fell, she grasped its sword and began to fight with it, though she had never used a sword before. She was a vision bathed in silver light and the orcs feared and loathed her power. They came upon her fiercely but always, she was quicker and dozens of orcs fell by her sword. Then, a great trumpet rang from the enemy and more orcs appeared. There seemed to be no end to them and each orc was deadlier than the last. They were skilled and learned in battle and carried weapons forged in the fortress of the Dark Lord himself. Yet, the elves were not without their skill and victory seemed to be ebbing their way despite the fact that they were outnumbered. The bodies began to pile up; the river was fouled with their dirty feet, but the elves fought with all the grace and surety that they were blessed. 

Then, a tall orc appeared amidst the battle and he did not carry many weapons as the rest of the orcs did. He was a great chieftain and had been given one sword as his weapon. His eye was fixed on Iorkann, for he knew that if the elf lord fell, the others would fall as well. But Ithildin saw his mind and she ran after him. Iorkann was some hundred feet away and surrounded by more than a dozen orcs. Ithildin tried to warn him; but the sounds of battle defeated her and her voice was lost to the wind. 

Just as the orc chieftain reached Iorkann, she drew out her sword and, with all her might, struck it into the orc. But she was knocked over by another orc, and her sword missed its target. It cut the orc's arm deeply and he turned to her with a cry of rage. With his other arm, he grasped his sword and brought it down on Ithildin. She did not have time to move out of the way completely; it pierced her side and the pain was like nothing she had ever experienced. For the orc carried with him a Morgul blade and its poison ran deep into the body of its enemy until it reached the heart and the victim succumbed to the evil of the Dark Lord. Ithildin lay on her back and her side was fire and ice. Iorkann saw her and, with a great cry, struck down the orc chieftain. He ran to her side, picked her up and carried her through the battle, dodging both elf and orc for he was very nimble on his feet.


	22. Ithildin's Sacrifice

            They made it to the palace in time and Iorkann carried her to a chamber where the elvish medicine was kept. He gave orders to the remaining guards in the palace and they brought forth hot water and cloths. Then, they bathed her wound and tried their best to cleanse it; but Iorkann knew what blade had pierced her and hot water would do little to comfort her. Already, her skin had become cold as ice. There was a shard lodged somewhere in Ithildin and slowly, it would make its way into her heart. Ithildin's eyes were closed and her breathing was ragged. But she was a strong woman, stronger than most elves in fact, and she could fight the shadow for many days. Yet, even she was no match for the spells of the Dark Lord and eventually she would fall.

            Ithildin opened her eyes to see Iorkann and the guards peering worriedly at her. She did her best to smile, though it was more of a grimace of pain. "I am all right," she said. "It is not a deep cut and the wound has already closed. You needn't look so worried."

            But Iorkann shook his head. "Nay, lady," he said, "That was a Morgul blade that marred your skin and it is no ordinary weapon. Already, its poison is working its way into your heart. It will try to take you into the shadow world of the Dark Lord. None of us have the skill to heal you, not even the King. You must be taken to Rivendell, to the house of Lord Elrond, but that is a perilous journey of many weeks. Rest now. Tonight, I and a dozen others shall prepare for the journey and tomorrow, we shall make our way to the Lord's house."

            His voice was calm and soothing, but Ithildin saw his mind and knew that he was worried. The battle had not gone as they had expected and the enemy seemed to have no end. Already, the elves were growing weary. They needed the strength of Iorkann and could not afford to give up even a dozen of their men. Ithildin closed her eyes but her plan had been formed. She would not wait for day, nor risk Iorkann when the people of Mirkwood needed him more. 

            When finally, the elves left her to sleep, she got up silently. The wound had closed, but oh, she was colder than she had ever felt in her life. And the pain at her side flamed like a fire that would not be put out. She gathered some clothing and food and put these into the pack she had carried with her throughout her journey. Then, as quickly as her wound would allow, she made her way out of the palace and towards a small stable. Times had changed and even the woodland elves had begun to keep horses. She harnessed the swiftest one, Rohkeleg, tied her pack to its saddle and then mounted it and rode off into the night.

            She rode for many days, out of Mirkwood and south, making for the Gap of Rohan for she could not cross the Misty Mountains. As each day went by, her strength began to fade. At night, she was plagued by nightmares of a horrific kind. She dreamed of nine black riders and always, they seemed to be searching for her. Their cries chilled her blood and always she awoke screaming, not knowing that her screams began to sound much like theirs. Light began to fade and even in the clearest sunlight, she could not make out the images before her. It seemed as if she looked out through a curtain of darkness and nothing could lift it. Also, her body had begun to grow cold despite the endless blankets she wrapped around her. Rohkeleg tried very hard to protect her, for he had come to love her as most animals loved Ithildin. When night came he would allow her to rest her head on his great grey body, hoping that some of his warmth would pass on to her. But it was no use. Ithildin grew weaker. The power within her flared. It was almost at its peak. If she gave in to the darkness, all would be lost.

            One night, she had a dream that determined the future of Middle-Earth. She was lost, lost inside a shadow world where there was no light. Suddenly, she was shown an image, a beautiful image: She stood tall and proud, bathed in silver splendor amidst a beautiful green world. People of all races bowed to her and hailed her as their queen. Then, a soft voice whispered to her: _Give in to the shadow and all this shall be yours_…_You shall rule and all the world will fear your wisdom and power._ It was so tempting and the evil side of the power flared. Suddenly, she was consumed with a lust to make that image come true. But goodness could not so easily be destroyed and the two sides fought for her soul. In the end, goodness won. "No!" she replied to the voice, "I was not meant for so great a glory. I will not make myself the key to the destruction of this world."

            Then the voice laughed and its laugher was terrible, for it sounded like the screams of a thousand innocent people. _Against the Dark Lord, there can be no victor. Join me now or else feel the wrath of the Lord of Mordor!_ But still Ithildin held on, resolute; she would not be swayed. "The light shall pierce the darkness!" she cried. The laughter stopped, and the evil was filled with rage at her refusal. Her wound began to burn and hurt more than a thousand needles. Ithildin screamed and Rohkeleg awoke. With a gentle nudge, Ithildin came out of her dream and her brow was bathed in sweat. A weariness overcame her such as she had never known and when her eyes closed a moment later, the last of her strength left her.


	23. Bitter Sorrow

            It was not a pleasant day in Mirkwood the morning after the attack. The fields were ridden with the dirty corpses of countless orcs, many trees had been slashed and hurt by their evil weapons and all the air was filled with the nasty, wretched scent that orcs-goblins carry with them. For now, the enemy had been driven off, though doubtless they would return with renewed vengeance. The woodland elves had a few hours of daylight to regain strength and spirit. So it came that Iorkann returned from the battle down south as the morning grew old. He had spent many hours after the last troop had fled tending to the wounded and fallen and more than once, he had had to bury dear friends. 

When he came to Thranduil's palace, he shed his dirty, bloodstained clothing and mail, had a bit to eat and then, after a splash of water on his tired face, he made his way to Ithildin's chamber. Now, Iorkann was a very wise elf, so he was not completely taken by surprise to find Ithildin's chamber empty. Still, his heart grieved and he worried at what had become of her. She had not given any indication that she knew where Rivendell was, though perhaps some good fortune would lead her on the right way. Still, not everything could be left to chance and Iorkann hastened to follow after her. He summoned a few other elves, all that could be spared, and they prepared to leave before nightfall. 

At some point during the afternoon, Thranduil returned to the palace. His fair face was stained with dirt and his bright mail dented by blows of countless weapons. For the elvenking himself had journeyed to his son's side and fought alongside him. Now, the king returned to rest a bit; but his rest was short-lived when he learned of the evil tidings that had befallen Ithildin. With grievance, he accepted Iorkann's request to follow after her, though he knew the elf's help would have been great. When Iorkann inquired about Legolas, the king sighed. The assaults on the east had been much stronger and only now were the elves able to rest a bit. Legolas had decided to remain in the east for a few days, fearing the enemy would return soon and sent messengers back to the palace with the news. So it was that he did not learn about Ithildin for many days.

The next assault came sooner even than Iorkann had expected. Before the sun had left the horizon, battle cries were heard far off in the distance. This time, the orcs were not stealthy or quiet; for they had increased many fold in number and felt sure that victory as on their side. The elves had barely time to ready themselves when the first attack began. Iorkann forgot for a few hours about Ithildin, for the news of the orcs traveled quick and he did not have time to dally. This time, the battle did not end soon, but went on for many days. In between, the orcs would retreat for a few hours, only to return again in huge masses. Finally, after the fifth day, they were driven off by one last defense and did not return for many days.

It was after the fifth day that Iorkann was finally able to leave Mirkwood in search of Ithildin. Quickly, he and his men left the palace, riding as swiftly as their horses could carry them. They journeyed long, heading southwest, but as each day went by, they saw no sign of her and began to lose hope. A week went by and still nothing, when they found her lying peacefully by her horse, Rohkeleg. Her face was deathly pale and her skin cold. Rohkeleg stood by her and if ever a horse could cry, tears slid down his face. Seeing the elves, he gave a great cry and they hurried to his side. There, Iorkann picked up Ithildin and on they rode making for Rivendell. But in the end, it was Gandalf who helped them, for he sent Gwaihir, the mighty Eagle Lord in search of them. The grey wizard had sensed that there was trouble east of the Misty Mountains and the eagle arrived not a moment too soon. With heavy hearts, the elves gave up Ithildin, trusting in the strength and agility of the mighty bird of ancient legend.

Legolas returned home late afternoon on the seventh day. The battle had left him somewhat grim, but what had constantly tugged painfully in his heart was concern for Ithildin. For many days, he had heard nothing of her and he was eager for news. He met Thranduil in the great hall and so eager was he that he did not notice the king's sad expression. "Father, what news of the Lady? Where is she?" asked Legolas.

Thranduil turned to his son and spoke words that were hard on his tongue. "She was wounded in battle by a blade of the enemy whilst defending Iorkann. She is not dead, but the effect of the weapon is much worse. The last she was seen, she had slipped into a trance of a sort such as no elf here has ever known. The poison from the blade has seeped into her body and as we speak, is making its way to her heart. If she gives in to it, she will fall into the shadow world of the enemy. Iorkann took her and tried to heal her but to no avail. He prepared to take her to Lord Elrond in Rivendell the following morning, but that night, she slipped out silently and took our swiftest horse. The next day, her disappearance was discovered by Iorkann, but before they could follow after her, the enemy assaulted us again. So it has been for the past few days now and only a day and a half ago have Iorkann and his guards been able to leave. I hope that they shall find the Lady in time, though I fear the worse."

At this Legolas became quite shocked and was at a loss for words. When finally he spoke again, his voice shook with fury and confusion. "Why was I not informed of this?" he cried. "I would have taken her to Rivendell myself if I had to carry her upon my back. You knew of this for days and yet you did not tell me? Then, I shall have to make up for lost time. I will follow Iorkann and do what I can to ensure the safety of my friend." 

But before he could move, he was stopped by his father. Sorrowful were Thranduil's eyes. "I would let you follow Ithildin to the edge of the world if that be your wish. But not now. Right now, son, I need your help to re-build our kingdom. So many of our people have fallen to the hands of the enemy, and the land is dirty with their evil. Would you forsake your people now, when we need you the most?" And Legolas knew he could not turn his back on his home, though it pained his heart. For months, he worked to restore the beauty of Mirkwood. With the help of his friends, trees that had been felled were replaced with young seeds, the bodies of the orcs were piled and burned, and the elves that had fallen in battle were buried and honored. Yet, not a day passed when he did not recall his friend Ithildin and he dreamed that he might one day hear her laughter again.


	24. At the Council of Elrond

            The months went by and slowly, the memory of Ithildin began to fade in Mirkwood for all save Thranduil and Legolas. But in the end, his elven heart gave up hope that they would meet again and he resigned himself to the duties he had as a prince. That was, until in early autumn, his father called to him and told him that he must journey to Rivendell. The work of restoring Mirkwood was near complete, and Thranduil had received word from messengers that a great Council was to be held in the house of Lord Elrond Halfelven. The king decided that the news of Gollum's escape must be brought forth to help the Council in their decisions.

            To say that Legolas was overjoyed would be a great understatement. He was fairly ecstatic with joy. The long, strenuous ride to Rivendell, the tiring passage through the Misty Mountains…All of that daunted him not. When the day came for him to set out, he mounted his horse with all but the basic necessities, for elves do not require much food or water when their hearts are light with happiness. Thranduil came to wish him good luck and farewell, but the goodbye ran deeper than his son knew. It hurt the elvenking very much to let his son go because in his heart, he knew that he would never have Legolas again. Nonetheless, wise Thranduil knew that higher powers were working and required the help of his son. So Legolas rode away from Mirkwood and for a long time, Thranduil's eyes never left the horizon.

            When Legolas arrived in Rivendell, he immediately asked for Ithildin. But the elves did not tell him what he wished to hear. It happened that Ithildin was brought to Lord Elrond in time and that she was healed after much work. She stayed in Rivendell for over a month, resting and mending before finally she became restless to leave. Right before Legolas arrived, she had journeyed off with Elrond's two sons in search of news of the Black Riders. It had been agreed that she could either come back with them to Rivendell in time for the Council, or part ways with them and go on her own. The chances of the latter, the elves said, were much higher.

            So Legolas had hoped in vain and he was very disappointed. Yet, the arrival of his good friend Aragorn helped ease his sorrow. His friendship with Aragorn was true and everlasting. Both being of royal descent and sharing the same love for nature, they had bonded when Aragorn arrived in Mirkwood with Gollum. Save for Arwen, the wizard Gandalf and Lord Elrond, only he knew of Aragorn's true lineage. So it is not surprising that when the day of the Council came, Legolas quite suddenly became angry, which is not usual. 

This is what happened: The son of the steward of Gondor, Boromir, arrived at the Council. He was a good man, noble and courageous, but it became quite clear to Legolas that his intentions were misguided. Boromir desired to use the One Ring of Power to aid in the fight against the Dark Lord, yet Lord Elrond had already stated this could not be so. But Boromir persisted, much to the annoyance of many in the Council. What made Legolas angry, however, was Boromir's complete disrespect for his friend Aragorn. Calling him a ranger who knew nothing was not the appropriate way to address royalty, and certainly not the way to address his good friend. Legolas leapt to Aragorn's defense, much to the surprise of the Council, for he was always well tempered. But what would you expect of someone who had journeyed through many perilous lands to see his dear friend, only to find that she was not there? So perhaps Legolas had good reason to overreact to Boromir's comments.

It was this outburst that earned him the attention of the rest of the Fellowship of the Ring (Nine companions, including Legolas himself, who were to aid the hobbit Frodo in destroying the One Ring of Power). When the Council was over and the members were allowed to rest a bit, Frodo asked Gandalf why the strange elf had reacted so passionately. Gandalf, desiring to take his mind off the immense quest, told Frodo, along with his companions Sam, Merry and Pippin (also hobbits) the story of Legolas and Ithildin, for when Ithildin had arrived in Rivendell, she had told Gandalf much of her story.

The sky was a soft black carpet glittering with thousands of bejeweled stars when Gandalf finished Ithildin's story. The hobbits were much entranced; first elves and then a magical silver lady whose past was unknown and who had suffered the same wound as Frodo. Middle-earth was truly filled with fascinating people. "Might we see this Silver Lady?" asked Pippin. 

Gandalf sighed. "Perhaps, if you are lucky and if our paths should cross. But I wouldn't place too much hope as I doubt Ithildin will return to Rivendell. She has questions of her own that must be answered and her road lies elsewhere."

"So that is why Legolas reacted so strongly at the Council," said Sam. "I don't suppose he is normally this way, though."

At this, Gandalf laughed. "No! He is a most pleasant companion, very knowledgeable given his young life (well, according to the elves). He will prove a good friend to you all, I am sure, for he is also loyal and true and noble of heart. You might see his performance in the Council as such, for he was merely defending his good friend Aragorn from Boromir. I suppose Sam, you would have done quite the same had anyone spoken against Mister Frodo. But I fear it is not a happy ending for Legolas and Ithildin, for we leave soon and I have seen no indication that she will come back to Rivendell in time for them to meet."


	25. A Destined Meeting

            Scarcely had these words been uttered when there was the distant sound of laughter. It was high and clear and sounded like a thousand tiny silver bells. The hobbits and Gandalf ran out to the balcony of their window, but nothing could be seen in the darkness except for a faint bit of ground below them. Off to their right, they saw Legolas emerge on to the adjoining balcony and something in his expression, like a cat poised and alert, made them stay where they were.

            Then, the hobbits heard a voice speaking. The voice was musical, sweet and joyful and all who heard it felt instantly lighter and happier. But the speaker remained hidden for several minutes. Finally, the voice ceased but there was the sound of horse hooves headed in the direction of the hobbits. Suddenly, out of the darkness came a woman. She was surrounded by a light silver glow that dark could not penetrate. Fair was she to behold, for her eyes mirrored the stars above and her skin was light as the moon. She led her horse, a beautiful grey beast with a mane of the same glowing silver across the courtyard beneath the balcony. 

            The hobbits and Gandalf heard a sharp intake of breath to their right. Turning, they saw Legolas's face lit up with delight and a smile that would have melted ice. In one swift move, he leapt over the edge of the balcony and landed on the ground beneath perfectly. Though his movements were quiet, the silver lady, Ithildin, looked up. She turned to Legolas and her own face was lit up. Legolas ran to her and lifted her off her feet, spinning her around once before setting her down on the ground again. Yet, his arms never left her.

            "I did not think I would ever see you again!" said Legolas.

            Ithildin smiled, suddenly shy. She had not expected this. "My heart is so filled with joy, I have not words to say."

            Legolas said, "Then do not speak". Then he kissed her gently and her heart soared into the night.

            When the kiss ended, Ithildin looked at him with eyes glowing with love. "I think, perhaps, that I loved you from the moment we first met," she said.

            Then Legolas smiled and said, "If destiny will allow, perhaps later we can make up for lost time."

            Gandalf quickly covered the hobbits' eyes and shooed them back into the room. The hobbits were quite disappointed, as they had very much enjoyed the scene. "It looks like something out of an old lovers' tale," said Sam wistfully. "That might be," said Gandalf, "But I believe there is a hobbit back in the Shire by the name of Cotton who would not appreciate your eyes on another woman." At which point Sam was quite subdued and said no more.


	26. The Sacrifice of a Few

            Their happiness was short-lived. That night, by a warm fire upon soft elven bed sheets, Legolas told her about the Quest and the journey he must embark upon. Hearing this, Ithildin was greatly upset. It seemed to her that fate was cruel, allowing her a chance to be with him against all odds only to have him leave her.

            "It is not fair, that I should find you now only to lose you so soon!" she cried against his shoulder.

            Legolas stroked her silver hair but naught that he said could comfort her. In his heart, he was grieved as well and it is dangerous for an elf to suffer grief. But he was wise enough to understand all that he had undertaken when he had pledged his bow to Frodo, son of Drogo. He alone represented the elves on this mission and it was not a light task. So, as the morning drew near and the hour of their departure hastened forward to meet them, he took her hand and looked at her with eyes of love and said:

"I do not deny that the thought of not seeing you again is a pain that pierces my heart. But there are greater forces at work in this world and I must play my part, however small. Know this, though, sweet Ithildin: I will never forget your laughter or your smile and not a day shall pass when I will not see your bright eyes and your fair face. Our time together may be short, but today shall not be our last day. We will meet again. I can feel it. Until then, our souls are forever joined and in our dreams, we will never part."

And then he gave her a present. It was a small woodland flower. Through some miracle, the flower had not dried or withered, nor would it ever. With it came the scent of beautiful Mirkwood so that Ithildin had only to hold it close to her to feel as if she were transported back to the forest she loved. She took the flower and wound it through her hair and there it stayed for many years. 

Then dawn arrived and with it, the hopes and expectations of a new day. Legolas left her and she followed him outside where all the Company was gathered. There were the four hobbits; the wizard Gandalf who in the elven tongue was called Mithrandir; the dwarf Gimli whom she had built quite a good friendship with; and the Men, Boromir and Aragorn, the man beloved by her friend Arwen. With them went Bill the pony, whom more than made up for his small strength with loyalty and love. The road would not be easy for this Company who called themselves the Fellowship of the Ring. They carried with them, especially little Frodo, the fate of Middle-earth. For the small gold ring that hung upon Frodo's neck was the very thing that the Dark Lord of Mordor sought in his desire to control and destroy all that was fair. 

Ithildin's heart broke as she finally let go of Legolas and he joined with the rest of the Fellowship as they made their way out of Rivendell. So much depended on the success of their mission and yet, if they succeeded in destroying the Ring, so much would still be lost. How could any of them hope to remain unchanged after the evils they would encounter? It seemed to Ithildin on that bitter day that dawned cold and clear, that she saw the last of the peaceful, innocent world leave with the Fellowship. No matter what the outcome, Middle-earth and its people would never be the same. Nothing would ever be the same again.

She stood outside for a long time even after the Fellowship was lost from sight and she wept for the brave souls who had sacrificed all that they held dear so that others might have a chance to love them. She wept for Frodo and Sam and Merry and Pippin whose innocence would be taken away in their journey. She wept for Boromir, who carried the fate of the White City of Men upon his shoulders without a word. She wept for Aragorn who would be tried by his past countless times and Arwen her friend who must wait for him to return. She wept for Gimli, whom she foresaw would be greatly changed after the War of the Ring. She wept for Gandalf who would never again be allowed to pretend to be nothing more than a merry old wizard. And finally, she wept for her beloved Legolas, for she knew, although he didn't, that they would never be happy together.

When finally she had no more tears left to cry, she turned and went back into Elrond's home, the Last Homely Home. There, the elves welcomed her with open arms and took her to the Hall of Fire, where she might find some solace from the anguish that tore at her heart.


	27. Gondor

            So the months passed and at first, there was much hope and song in Rivendell. But soon, a darkness began to grow and spread across the sky so that the elves stopped their singing and clutched each other. Time went by and the darkness grew stronger. Yet, it could not fully penetrate that lovely valley where people of all races may walk free and happy. Ithildin spent many days with Arwen and the other elves, taking joy in the simple pleasures of life: stories, friendship, good food, warm clothes. It seemed that there was naught else they could do.

            Then, finally, word came of the Fellowship. A war was brewing in the country of Gondor, the land of Men where great kings of old, Numenoreans they were called, once lived. The Fellowship was sundered: Sam and Frodo had departed from the rest and gone off to the East to complete their mission. Meanwhile, the rest of the Company had made their way to Gondor. The enemy was not taking any chances: All its force it poured forth to destroy this country and here it would be fought the greatest battle of the Third Age of Middle-earth.

            Arwen, upon hearing this, prepared immediately to journey south. Her beloved Aragorn was there and she desired greatly to be with him in this dark time. Ithildin decided also, that she would journey with Arwen since there was not much she could do in Rivendell. So together, the two made the perilous journey southeast heading ever closer to danger. Arwen carried with her a banner and other things to bring to Aragorn and along the way, told Ithildin much about the history of Men. Gondor had not seen a king for many, many years. The time would soon come, Arwen said, when Aragorn would claim his kingship in Gondor and the White City of Minas Tirith would once again have a king.

            Then they arrived at the White City after many days and dangerous roads but the city was no longer fair as the elves of Rivendell had remembered. The shadow of the East had stretched over the white city and already, its people had been assailed by the fell monsters and armies of the Dark Lord. Darkness here was strong and the days were cold and dreary. Everyday, messengers arrived at the city bearing ill tidings of friends and kin who had fallen while battling the hosts of the East. Then, a day came when the sun rose not and the whole city was shrouded in black. Soon, across the vast fields of the white tower, watchmen took up a cry. Armies, black and deadly were making their way to Gondor from east and south. The siege of Gondor had begun.

            Much of what happened during those dark days is not necessary to recall. Indeed, Ithildin herself wished to wipe the memory of those days from her mind. When she arrived at the northern gates of Minas Tirith, she was allowed to enter only because the guards trusted Arwen. But she was forbidden to move freely in the White City and was taken to the Houses of Healing, where she was told to remain until they decided what to do with her. For many days, she wandered the gardens about the house, befriending the people within, feeling much as a bird trapped in a beautiful, but still isolated prison cell.

            Then the war broke out. There arose in the distance cries of battle and noise of confusion and chaos. Ithildin wanted desperately to take up arms and join in the battle, but she was forbidden and told to remain in the house. The battle outside waged on and seemed to have no end. And ever the news became more hopeless. Gondor did not have the strength to fight this vast an army and day by day, brave men fell to the evil of the Dark Lord. The men desperately needed the aid of the men of the north, the Rohirrim, the Riders of Rohan, great horse-lords of the country of Rohan where Ithildin herself had journeyed many moons ago. But naught was heard from the north and there was great anguish in the city. Where were the Rohirrim? The hours grew long and dark and the Houses of Healing began to fill up with bodies of the wounded and fallen. 

            Then came a moment of silence in the midst of the battle. The Lord of the Nazgûl, along with his eight other fell servants, arrived at the great gates of Minas Tirith. All who beheld him quailed and even the bravest cowered in his shadow. The Witch King of Angmar he was also called and his terror cannot be described in words. All who battled stopped and it seemed that the very earth stood still in that moment. For the men of Gondor saw the end of their great city. The Witch King was here and led an army vaster than any had before been seen. Who would challenge him?

            Yet, someone did step forth. One brave soul stood forward and rose to meet the lord of whom even the Orcs quivered with fear. Mithrandir, it was, who went to meet him; the grey wizard Gandalf, friend of friends and foe of foes. Gandalf stood before the great white gates of Minas Tirith and forbade the passage of the Witch King. But the Lord of the Nazgûl only laughed, for he was powerful and evil and no creature of this earth could hinder his entrance. Then the hearts of the men fell and they knew that Gandalf alone could not stop him and there was no strength left for resistance. Evil would win and all Middle-earth would fall to the power of the Dark Lord.

            In the moment when all hope failed, there arose a great and glorious sound. It was the song of a thousand silver trumpets and victorious it was, ringing and echoing across the walls of the White City. Then the men were filled with hope renewed for they knew that that sound could mean only one thing: The Rohirrim had arrived.


	28. In the House of Healing

            Great was the battle afterwards, but the men of Gondor fought with lighter hearts than they had had before. They were aided by their friends from the north, the Rohirrim and it seemed nothing could hinder their victory. Yet, they were not able to prevent all evil. The King of the Mark, the ruler of Rohan and the Rohirrim, Théoden, fell under the arm of the Witch King and his loyal horse, Snowmane as well. In the midst of the battle, his death would not have been avenged had it not been for the arrival of his daughter Éowyn, who had disguised herself as a mere soldier to ride with the Rohirrim. And yet, even as she delivered a mortal wound to the Witch King, it was the hobbit Merry who came to her aid when the might of the Witch King proved too great for Éowyn to handle. So it came to be that the Lord of the Nazgûl was slain, but the price paid was the death of great Théoden and Snowmane. Éowyn and Merry, both wounded in battle, were taken to the House of Healing and there the tenants of that house, under the counsel of Ithildin, tended to their wounds.

            Meanwhile, another great warrior was almost taken by the dark. Faramir was his name and he was the brother of Boromir, the second son of Denethor, steward of Gondor and now the heir, for Boromir had fallen in a previous battle. He too was taken to the House of Healing and there he met Éowyn. Long they rested in that house and as the days passed, Faramir and Éowyn grew to seek each other's companionship and Ithildin smiled for she knew what would soon happen. Yet, something hindered the bloom of their love and that was this: Éowyn was in love with Aragorn. But Ithildin took matters into her own hands, for there was naught else she could do in that time. When Faramir was resting, she would speak with Éowyn and soon, they had built up a strong friendship. Then, one day, Ithildin asked Éowyn why she denied the love of a great man such as Faramir. And Éowyn had not the answer for Ithildin and this question gave her pause to think.

            So it came that one day, Faramir declared his love to Éowyn and in that moment, when the sun met with the flowers of the garden in the House of Healing, Éowyn the shieldmaiden looked deep within herself and answered the desire of her heart. Then Faramir kissed her upon the walls of the garden and many below witnessed the event as a golden and white light shining high above. 

            Yet, while this joyous event happened, news of the battle took a turn for the worst. The Rohirrim were not enough to drive back the hosts of Mordor. Their combined strength with Gondor was waning and victory seemed to ebb beyond their grasp. Suddenly, the men at the eastern front beheld a sight that only songs had told: A great ship was sailing towards them on the River Anduin and behold, it bore a banner of the Silver Tree before the White Tower. Aragorn, heir of Isildur, and king of Gondor, had arrived. 

            So victory came again within their grasp and Aragorn, along with his companions Gimli the dwarf and Legolas himself arrived at the aid of Gondor and with them, many spirits of the dead who had, in their time, pledged to aid the heir of Isildur. The battle was long and hard, but finally, victory came to Gondor. Then, Aragorn went up to the House of Healing to find Éowyn and Merry and heal their hurts. Soon after, Gimli and Legolas went up as well and there, Legolas and Ithildin were re-united for a brief time. While Aragorn tended to the wounded, and healed them with only his touch, Legolas and Ithildin strode along the gardens cherishing each moment together.

            "The months have not left you untouched," said Ithildin and she caressed his fair elven face.

            Legolas closed his eyes and allowed her gentle touch to soothe him. Then he opened them and said, "The shadow of evil has passed me and it has passed Gondor. We will win this war yet. But oh, Ithildin, I have missed you. I would rather hold your sweet hand for one moment than taste this bittersweet victory forever. So many lives have been lost and I cannot see a reason why."

            "Yet, sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good," said Ithildin. "Your father knew this when he let you go. Sometimes, dear Legolas, the mighty must fall so that the young and the weak might have a chance, in time, to take their place."

            Then Legolas took her hand and kissed her. "Let us not speak of this anymore. For now, we are together and happy and that is all that my heart desires". And he pulled Ithildin close to him and held her and was content. But Ithildin knew all too well how brief their time together would be and she was saddened.


	29. If All Promises Could be Kept

            By the words of the lady of the House of Healing, Aragorn revealed himself to be the rightful king of Gondor. With just his touch, he could assuage the pain of the people within and soon the news broke out all throughout Minas Tirith that the King of Gondor had returned. For a few precious days, the brave people of Minas Tirith could rest. But ere long, Gandalf came and declared something that quailed even the bravest who had fought valiantly: The Rohirrim, the Fellowship, the men of Gondor and all who were willing to go with them, must ride to the very gates of Mordor, for the Eye of Sauron was ever watchful, and if they did not do something quick, it would see Frodo and Sam as they headed towards the Cracks of Doom to destroy the One Ring of Power.

            And hearing this, Ithildin made up her mind to go with them for she would not part with Legolas again. Her heart was heavy, but she knew that she must play her part in this war, though her part be small and insignificant. So, she journeyed with the men and Aragorn rode forward with Gandalf and their plan was this: Aragorn would pretend to have the One Ring and to claim himself as the new Lord of the Rings. Being that he was Isildur's heir, Sauron would easily be tricked and his attention would be turned away from Frodo and Sam. It was a dangerous trap and the chance of survival was low, but what else could they do?

            The journey there was dark and few spoke and none sang. Ithildin rode beside Legolas but neither dared speak a word for the Dark Lord had many spies whose eyes could pierce thought and flesh. Then finally, they were there: At the gates of Mordor, the Black Land. With a cry, Gandalf issued his challenge and suddenly, the gates opened and the hosts of Mordor issued forth.

            What followed then was the inevitable battle between the last remnants of good in Middle-earth and those who sought to destroy all things fair and beautiful. Ithildin weilded her sword and fired her bow, but ever the enemy issued forth. Suddenly, she found herself near brave Pippin, the youngest of the hobbits in the Fellowship. She had no chance to speak, though. A great troll had come forward and with one swing, had felled Beregond his friend, a watchmen of Minas Tirith. In rage, Pippin slew the troll, but as the troll died, it fell onto Pippin and others around him, trapping them underneath his great weight. Then, Ithildin made her way through the chaos about her, and with the strength she possessed from her power, she tossed aside the great troll and picked up Pippin. 

Soon the others began to come to, but Pippin remained unconscious in her arms. Ithildin checked him and found to her relief that he was all right. As quickly as she could, she made her way through the battle, dodging orc and fell beast and soldier alike, until she was far from the battle atop a mound of land. There, she laid Pippin and covered him with her cloak to keep him warm and went back down to rejoin the battle.

            The Fields of Cormallen were a beautiful area of land surrounded by red and gold trees. Long had this place been fair even against the tumult of the east and it was here that the men and women retired who had challenged the very hosts of Mordor at the Black Gates. Sam and Frodo recovered from their wounds in this land in North Ithilien, which had been one of the fairest cities in Middle-earth. Indeed, in the days that followed in Cormallen, much that had been sundered or lost was re-united and found.

            Joyous was the singing and merry-making and there was a great feast to honour the heroes of the War: Frodo and Sam and Merry and Pippin, as well as Gandalf and Aragorn, Isildur's heir, and men gathered to celebrate the return of the King. A minstrel sang songs in the fair Elvish tongue and then in the speech of Men and all who heard felt calm and at peace. Then, words of beauty and love were spoken so that all who were present ached in the heart and their happiness was mingled with their sorrow and loss and their spirits ever writhed in sweet turmoil.

            It was for more than two months that they dwelt there and none begrudged the time spent. Yet, all good things must come to an end, as the sun itself must inevitably give in to the darkness at the end of the day and soon, the time came for these dear friends to depart. At first, all traveled southwest, but soon they parted ways. Aragorn returned to Minas Tirith to take up the throne as King and with him went Ithildin, Legolas and Gimli. The hobbits rode away north with Gandalf and Elrond and Galadriel for their home lay northwestward. But before they left, Pippin pulled Ithildin aside and thanked her.

            "For what?" asked Ithildin surprised.

            "Why, for taking me away from that awful troll," said Pippin merrily.

            Then Ithildin laughed and hugged him, for there was truly something to be said for the strength and endurance of hobbits. With a wave, Pippin rode off with his friends and Ithildin's heart was sorry to see him go. She went back to Legolas and together, along with what remained of the Fellowship, they rode back to the White City.

            Glorious were the songs when Aragorn took his place as the last of the great Kings of old, and Arwen his bride, was beautiful and celestial. For a while, Legolas and Gimli remained with their friend, for they were the hunters three who had journeyed together after the battle at Amon Hen in search of the then captive Merry and Pippin. But soon, Legolas and Gimli took up residence in fair Ithilien, which was not far from the White City, and Ithildin went with them.

            For many years, Ithildin and Legolas lived in peace, save for a time when Legolas and Gimli traveled to the caves of Helm's Deep and the forest of Fangorn due to a pact they had made with each other. Ithildin did not accompany them, though she changed much while they were gone. Finally, though, after a few years, Legolas returned. Soon, many of the woodland elves of his kingdom journeyed west and helped him and Gimli repair Ithilien and Minas Tirith. Then, the White City shone anew and its gates were strongholds of which nothing could penetrate. Ithilien bloomed, under the guidance and love of Ithildin and became the fairest city in all of Middle-earth. There, she and Legolas were content and he was among his kin and this gladdened his heart.

            One day, Legolas and Ithildin journeyed to Minas Tirith for they desired the company of Aragorn and Arwen. They were welcomed warmly in the city and a feast was prepared in their honour. When they had eaten to their heart's content, they sat by the fire in the great hall and talked of things past and forgotten and things to come.

            "How much had changed since that day we set out from Rivendell," remarked Legolas, wistfully.

            "Yet," said Aragorn. "Would you have it any other way? We are for the most part happy and at peace. Evil has been destroyed for now and our children may roam free from care." With that, Arwen smiled and placed a hand on her stomach.

            "I miss the merry hobbits," said Ithildin. "I do hope that their road takes them to their beloved home safe and sound."

            "Of that, we shall never know," said Aragorn. "But like you, I hope for the best for these delightful creatures. And yet, I fear for Frodo, for he alone has suffered the most in this quest and my heart tells me he will not be able to go back to his simple way of life. Too much has he endured and seen and experienced and it is foolish to think that he could ever be content in his home. Sam may do his part to assuage the pain of his master, but I fear that a higher power is in need. Oh, but for the shadow of evil we could all live in peace and glory!"

            And then they all fell silent, deep in their own thoughts until the hour grew late and it was time for Ithildin and Legolas to return home. They mounted their horses and with a final farewell, journeyed off into the night. As they rode, silence followed them for they were each thinking things that need not be spoken. But finally, Legolas broke the silence.

            "I heard the cry of the gulls," he said.

            Ithildin was startled out of her thought and did not know at first what to make of what he had said, but Legolas continued.

            "I should not have, for it was deemed long ago that the cry of the gulls would awaken in me a desire and longing for the sea. And it was true, for now I have become restless and long for the free waters. Yet, I would not forsake my city and my land, nor my friends and kin." And she could see that Legolas was torn.

            Then Ithildin reached out and took Legolas's hand in hers as they rode. "Wherever you go," she said, "I will follow if that is your wish. I know not much of the sea, or of the great West that is whispered, but if I can, I will accompany you when you desire to go elsewhere."

            "That is good," said Legolas. "I could not bear the thought of leaving you behind. But let us speak of this no more, for when the time comes when such matters will arise, we will discuss them at our leisure." 


	30. The Closing of the Third Age

            The years passed. Ithilien grew great and fair until it achieved a majesty and beauty that was reminiscent of the days of old when the Eldar, the elves of old who had seen the great West that is called the Blessed Realm, came to Middle-earth and built upon it many lovely cities and towns. The people of Ithilien were happy and content and were in great friendship with Gondor and Rohan. Though Sauron's fall had not erased evil forever, he was but a spirit of malice in the far East and his few remaining servants hid themselves in deep pits and caves and dared not venture out. 

            And yet, there was sadness in Middle-earth following the end of the Second Darkness of Sauron. For with the destruction of the One Ring of Power came the destruction of all the other rings whose fate had been bound to it. So it was that the nine rings, which were given to the fell Nazgûl were destroyed as well as the seven given to the great Dwarf-lords of old and few, lamented their loss. But there were also three rings given to the elves and two of the elves who carried these rings were Elrond and Galadriel and they had used these rings to establish fair Rivendell and Lothlórien. Much of the power of these magical places came from the rings and so, when the One Ring was destroyed, their power was gone and the elves began to fade.

            As the elves waned and their time in Middle-earth hastened to an end ere the Fourth Age began, men continued to prosper and flourish and the prophecies of old were fulfilled and the Dominion of Men began. Few save the elves and the wise were aware of this and yet, it was to be the greatest loss of Middle-earth: To lost the Firstborn of the Children of Ilúvatar, who had created the world and the Firstborn were elves. Already, elves had become but a legend in many parts of the world and their sorrow was ever growing to leave the kingdom they had dwelt in for so long, though they longed for the never-ending bliss of Valinor, the Blessed Realm.

            One morning, the dawn was cold and cheerless and the sky was grey and cloudy. Ithildin did not like this day and sensed that something was amiss. As the day wore on, this feeling of foreboding grew in her heart until she could stand it no longer and went for along walk. She traveled out of Ithilien, heading west not knowing where she was going until she arrived at the gates of Minas Tirith. There, she entered the city and roamed its streets for countless hours, her mind ever restless until finally, a thought flashed in her mind and she knew it to be true: _Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the last of the Númenoreans, was dead_. And then she hastened back to Ithilien for this was too great to bear alone.

            Soon, word reached all of Ithilien and Rohan and many lands to the east and north and west. Aragorn, the King of Gondor, Dúnadan, Estel of hope, the man of whom songs had sung, had ended his life in the city of his ancestors. Arwen, who had been with him until his spirit left the world, wept long but soon arose and bade farewell to her family and when she passed out of Minas Tirith, none heard of her again.

            But Legolas and Gimli were heartbroken for now they alone remained of the Fellowship of the Ring. Frodo and Gandalf had long passed into the Blessed Realm to heal Frodo's hurts and bring peace to his soul. Boromir had perished in battle many years ago, and Sam and Merry and Pippin had died of old age. 

The loss was too great for Legolas and he experienced the bitterness that is the curse of immortal life upon the elves: To watch things grow old and wither away even as he remained unchanged and he desired at last, to follow his heart and go to the sea. He began to build a great ship, one that would be blessed by the elves and thus would be able to find the straight path to the hidden land of Valinor and he bade all that would come help construct the ship. 

Gimli chose also to come with him, for their friendship was great and unparalleled between any Elf or Dwarf of old, and of course, Ithildin would follow him as well. Yet, this agreement was bittersweet, for they would leave so many things they loved and in the land of the Blessed Realm, these things would become but a distant memory. But in the end, the desire to follow Legolas was stronger for Ithildin and Gimli and the desire to leave behind the horrid memories of the years of Sauron was greater still.

Then Legolas had but one last task left to do and that was to return to his homeland one last time and bid farewell to his father and woodland friends. Ithildin went with him for she desired to see beautiful green Mirkwood one last time before she departed from the shores of Middle-earth forever. So they bade Gimli wait for them in Ithilien and oversee the building of the ship while they were gone and promised to return as soon as possible.


	31. A Decision Made in Leisure

            Their journey to Mirkwood was the shortest yet, for now the roads were safe and free and nothing hindered their passage. Throughout this time, Legolas told Ithildin all that he knew of Valinor and sang to her songs of legend of the Valar, who were the Lords of the West, the gods who oversaw all that was done. And Ithildin became enchanted by his words and longed herself to see this place that was like heaven.

            They arrived in Mirkwood after journeying for many days and were received warmly by its people. Indeed, the woodland elves were glad to see their prince return though the true reason of their joy lay hidden for a while. The elves took Legolas and Ithildin to Thranduil's palace and Iorkann and many guards were there to meet them. Ithildin gave out and received many warm hugs and delighted once again in the beauty and laughter of Mirkwood.

            Though the great forest had been besieged by the enemy and had not been left untouched, it was still splendid green, warm and open and now that the shadow had passed forever, the sun filtered through its high canopy like golden rain and the air was filled with the scent of berries and woodland flowers. Springs babbled and brooks sighed; birds sang and deer galloped and many beautiful things grew in the forest.

            But when they reached the palace of Thranduil and crossed through the Iron Gates, the laughter died from Ithildin and she became troubled. A shadow fell over her joy and she was filled with a sense of foreboding. They were taken to the hall of Thranduil and there he welcomed them warmly and hugged his son close, but to Ithildin, he seemed frailer and weaker. Yet, that was impossible, because elves did not age and she did not understand that Thranduil appeared this way because he had been overcome with grief for the loss of his son. Legolas's arrival was indeed a much needed surprise and this was why the woodland elves had been so rejoiced.

            Thranduil bade them sit by him in his great hall and tell him all that had happened since the day Legolas had set forth from Mirkwood to Imladris to tell the Council of Elrond the news of Gollum's escape. The tale was long and complicated and many times, Ithildin and Legolas had to take turns explaining various aspects, but Thranduil was enthralled and they continued until at last, as the night drew on, they finished.

            "So you have returned, after all these long years, and wish to settle in your home once again," said Thranduil to his son.

            "Nay father," said Legolas, "I come to bid you a final farewell. Too greatly have I suffered from this journey, and my loss, I cannot bear to think. I have lost all but one of my friends in our Fellowship and even he is not immortal and will soon pass away in the reckoning of the elves. Therefore, I have determined that I should set sail to the West and seek for the Undying Lands of Valinor that only the elves can find."

            Thranduil grew pale and he became like a rock. "Say it is not so," he whispered. "You mean to leave Middle-earth forever?"

            "Yes," said Legolas. 

            And then Thranduil's eyes closed and he lay himself down and his face grew ever paler. "What is wrong?" cried Legolas springing from his seat and he called for help. Soon, Iorkann appeared and with him, other elves and they carried Thranduil to a resting chamber and laid him upon a bed. Then, Legolas bathed his face with a cool cloth until Thranduil came to, but would not speak. Iorkann bade him rest a while now that the initial danger was passed, but to Legolas and Ithildin, he spoke words that were not cheerful.

            "Long has your father yearned for you," said Iorkann, "Fearing that you might be wounded or even slain in battle after all these long years you did not return. We received word, at times, that brought tidings of your Fellowship and were somewhat comforted, but Thranduil grew ever weaker, for the loss of his son he could not bear. Your coming to us was as the footsteps of joy ere we learned of your intent. But now Thranduil is weak again and he will never fully heal after what you have told him. He will carry this grief until his heart can bear it no more and he himself surrenders his spirit to Valinor."

            Then Legolas and Ithildin were filled with sorrow and knew not what to do and sought the counsel of wise Iorkann. "Celeborn, Lord of Lothlórien took to him the southern regions of our forest as a home for his people after Lady Galadriel passed into the west with Frodo and Mithrandir. But only a remnant of the people of Lórien remains and Celeborn himself has tired of his home. He has made plans to go to Imladris, that is, Rivendell and dwell there with the sons of Elrond, who are all of the kindred of the elves of old left, after Elrond passed also into Valinor. In Imladris lies the last of the elven-havens and there I perceive that your father might find some solace and recover his strength. I can offer no other counsel."

            Legolas and Ithildin accepted this reluctantly, though they knew there was no other way. So, they tended to Thranduil and he grew a bit stronger, but the blinders were removed and Legolas perceived that his father was filled with grief and weak. They told him of Iorkann's suggestion and Thranduil chose to follow it, knowing that he could not persuade his son to forsake the Blessed Realm and the sea. Then, news of this reached the woodland elves of Thranduil's kingdom and they were filled with sorrow. They loved Thranduil and had known no other king.

            The day came when Thranduil left for Rivendell and with him went some of his servants who could not bear to part with him. But Iorkann remained and most of the elven folk of Thranduil's realm, for though their love for their king was great, their love for their home was greater. Then Legolas and Ithildin made plans to leave and return to Ithilien, where Gimli waited and then on to the Grey Havens, an old seaport where elves dwelt and built great ships about its harbour. The ship of Legolas would already be there, waiting for its masters to draw its anchor and steer it to its destination. So they bade farewell to their friends and made ready to leave. At one point, Ithildin spoke to Iorkann before they left.

            "How will you go on without your king?" she asked.

            "That I do not know, silver lady," he said. "We are not of a great magical race as the people of Lothlórien and Rivendell. We are simple elves and take pleasure in much the same things as the lesser creatures of this world. Yet, Thranduil was a powerful king and brought glory to his realm and with his passing, much of that glory will fade as indeed it did with the realms of Elrond and Galadriel. Under our king, we were united and prosperous but I fear that without him, our ways of life will change and we shall know little magic ever after. I do not say that we need a ruler, but with Thranduil and Legolas, we were a happy people and our woods were magical in their beauty and splendor."

            With these words, Ithildin knew her heart to be true and knew that much that she had felt and seen were about to come to pass. She left Mirkwood with Legolas after many farewells and partings and together, they journeyed back to Ithilien. They did not say much during this journey back and indeed, that was all right, for Legolas was sorrowful and Ithildin had much to ponder. When at last they reached fair Ithilien, Gimli was there and elves that wished also to go to Valinor greeted them. The ship had been built and was now docked at the Grey Havens awaiting them.

            Legolas and Ithildin packed their possessions and, climbing atop their faithful horses, they rode with Gimli and the other elves to their destination. This trip was long and wearisome, but the elves were merry and Gimli and Legolas joked often and sang many songs. Ithildin too participated in their jest and the laughter helped to pass the time. Over hill and dale they journeyed, crossing endless streams and fields and plains and the world of the west was revealed to them, a world of old song and legend that had seen the crossing of many people into the uttermost West.


	32. The End of the Silver River

Three and twenty days passed ere they reached the Grey Havens. It was a city of splendor, the air filled with the salty tang of the sea but it too had diminished with the passing of the elves. Now, only a remnant of its people remained, for Círdan the shipwright who was the lord of the Grey Havens had gone finally to Valinor with Sam, after Frodo and Gandalf. The last of his people would accompany Legolas in his voyage and so would end the grey elves of the seaport of Middle-earth upon the west coast, and no more would there be ships built that could sail to the Blessed Realm.

            The elves greeted them when they arrived and allowed them to rest a bit before moving. Then, the horses of Legolas and Ithildin and Gimli and the elves were unloaded of their burden and given leave to go off into the wild. But Ithildin restrained her horse and did not unload her things from it. None at first noticed. The elves busied themselves with preparations and Gimli and Legolas helped load their belongings and necessities unto the boat. Finally, though, Legolas returned to the shore one last time and noticed, amid the bustle, that Ithildin had done nothing save dismounted from her horse.

            "Why do you linger?" he asked. "Had I not seen you, I would have set sail without you."

            For a while Ithildin did not answer, but stared off into the distance, away back west and north. Then finally, she turned to Legolas and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. 

            "I sought for so long," said Ithildin. "Through countless lands beautiful and barren. And finally I have found a place I can call my home: Mirkwood, beautiful and untroubled by the outside world. I thought, perhaps, that I might give up settling in the Green Wood and accompany you into the West as you desired, for I could not bear to part with you. That is, until we met your father. Now, he has left and your people need someone of power, wisdom and above all, love, to govern them and help them in their lives. I cannot hope to rival Thranduil, the great elvenking, but perhaps the love I have for the home of your people might bring some comfort to them."

            Then Legolas understood too late what she meant to do. "You mean to go back and remain there," he said.

            "Yes," said Ithildin and a lone tear fell down her cheek. She took from her hair, the flower that Legolas had given to her in Rivendell so many years ago and it was still fresh and beautiful. Taking Legolas's hand, she placed it in his palm and then closed his fingers over it.

            "But you promised you would follow me wherever I went," said Legolas. "You are my companion, my friend, my soulmate. I cannot imagine living this life or any life without you."

            Ithildin smiled sadly. "And yet, for many years, we did just that and so, we can do it again. I do not belong there, Legolas, not the world that you seek beyond the great sea. I have not suffered as you or Frodo or Gandalf have; I have not the right to live in the Blessed Realm. I was not born for so great a gift."

            "Then I shall remain here with you," cried Legolas desperately.

            "No," said Ithildin. "Your heart belongs, for now and ever, to the sea. We have become sundered, you and I, and have fastened our hearts to two different worlds. Here, on the shores of Middle-earth, we stand upon the line that divides our two worlds and it is here that we must part."

            Then she took the hand that clasped the flower and kissed it. "Farewell Legolas. Regret not the day we met, but remember always that sorrow is the golden sun behind the dark cloud and that after the rain, we may feel again its warmth and radiance upon our faces and our hearts."

            With that, she let go his hand and climbed atop her faithful steed Rohkeleg, who had been with her since Mirkwood; and without another glance back, she rode off into the darkening day. Legolas watched her until her silhouette disappeared beyond the mountains and hills that were illuminated by the sun behind. Then, he turned back to his ship and Gimli was standing there and many of his friends and they wrapped their arms about him and accompanied him onto the boat. Soon, the anchor was raised, the rope untied and the great ship left the shores of Middle-earth. And from above came a strong wind in their favor, as if some higher power wished to hasten their voyage and so ease the ache in the hearts of the people within.

            The streams of the Entwash were soft and quiet as light faded into the fiery rim of the horizon, setting the sun upon yet another day. There was no breeze in the air, but a gentle warmth that touched and guided all that it could reach. Birds sang no more, retiring into their homes for the day. To the north loomed the towering pinnacles of rock, the Misty Mountains, luminous and terrible in their beauty and age. Yet now they were cleansed and wholesome and troubled travelers no more.

            Ithildin rode until she reached the Celebrant. Then, following the spring she came once again to Anduin, the great river she had crossed countless times during her journey. Now, she would cross it for the last time. Its waters were cool and fresh, flowing not too quick and not too slow. The pale moon above glistened and surrounding it were stars of color and beauty and the light of the moon intermingled with that of the stars and touched upon the surface of Anduin, turning the river brilliant silver in the evening dusk.

            Quickly, Ithildin took down her possessions from Rohkeleg's side freeing him of the weight. "Well, dear friend," she said to the steed, "You are free to go where you please and shall not be troubled by me again. May you find happiness, faithful Rohkeleg." The horse gazed at her sorrowfully, but obeying his mistress to the end, galloped off into the night disappearing behind acres of trees until the sound of his departure could be heard no more.

            Then, Ithildin turned back to Anduin with a sigh. Before her, the great river babbled cheerfully, heedless of the pain in her heart. And somewhere beyond the silver water was a beautiful green forest of harmony and peace. Its people were strong and generous and brave. To this forest was her soul chained and her love given, this land that she had finally found to call her home and it reached out to her from beyond, bidding her hurry and return.

            "I am coming," said Ithildin.


	33. Appendix A

Appendix A Of Mindon and its people 

For years uncounted and ages past, the people of Mindon Enedh lived in quiet solitude, in solace and secrecy that might have rivaled the ancient Elven kingdom of Gondolin. Only the very wisest knew of the people of Mindon and among those, only a few learnt their history and language. 

They were, the people of Mindon Enedh, of a mixed race. In the time of creation, the Firstborn arrived in Middle-earth and were given a choice to remain or to leave for Valinor, the Blessed Realm that is now beyond reach. Some chose to remain in Middle-earth, fearing the power of the gods in the Realm, and so, made their dwellings in its lands. But times were not easy for them, the first Elves of Middle-earth. From the north came the dark terror of Morgoth, the fell Ainu of the gods. For countless years, the first elves resisted his evil, moving further south and away from his grasp. A small group of them settled in the region that later became the Mindon and lived there peacefully until the coming of Men.

The Men of the beginning were spread far and wide across Middle-earth. Some soon found their way into the Mindon and dwelt near the elves. A great friendship soon rose among them. By some work of magic, or some will of a higher power, the children of the Men began to develop similarly to the Elves. They were taller and fairer than most mortal Men, and lived for quite a long time. They possessed the lyrical voice of the Elves and had keener eyesight, swifter reflexes and lighter agility than any that were seen later. 

With the coming of the Great Darkness, many of the Elves of Mindon left to fight in the Last Alliance. The Men, being unable to part with their friends of old, joined them and sadly, many were lost in those years until the population of both Elves and Men dwindled to but three houses. Then, with the passing of the Darkness, the remaining elves of Mindon left to join the survivors of the Last Alliance, seeking a place to heal their hurts. They eventually arrived in Lothlórien.

So remained only three houses of the descendants of the first Men, and they grew lesser until none but the elderly couple of Herth-Milui remained. 

Of Mindon and its lands 

            Mindon Enedh was located in the hills in the region between the Misty Mountains, southeast of the Dimrill Dale, and the ancient wood of Lothlórien. It was hidden from the road by tall rock walls, the remnants of the day the world was broken and re-made. 

            The land was hidden from outsiders for all its long history and none who did not live there have ever seen it, save for Galadriel, Lady of Lothlórien. It was not out of fear or hate that the people chose to remain secret. They simply wished not to be disturbed by the troubles of the outside world and for ages past, their wish was granted.

            In the days of its youth, the land was beautiful to behold. It could not, of course, rival the great Elven kingdoms of old, but there was a certain homeliness to it that delighted its people. The hills were covered with grass that stayed lush and green in the warm seasons and were studded with tiny flowers of lavender. If there was no rain, the sky was always a rich blue, the sun a warm golden halo against it. In the winter, the snow blanketed the hills, turning them into white pillows. 

            The houses of the people were built on the tip of one hill, smaller than the rest, dwarfed by its surroundings. The Elves preferred to live in huts made of fallen wood and surrounded by gardens of flowers of every rainbow. The Men lived in houses built of stone, using rock from the walls away south. They too shared a love for life that surrounded them, but could not reproduce them to such beauty as the Elves. 

            Dotting the hill at various points were forests of trees of ever kind. Some were of sturdy birch, white with tips of brilliant green that glowed luminous in the sunlight. Others were of towering maples, whose leaves became hues of fire in the autumn. Still other forests were trees of every sort, intermingling fiery reds with conservative browns and polished greens with shining gold. All the houses were built near these trees so that the people of Mindon could awake to the sight of the sun shimmering over vast canopies of leaves and listen to the songs of the robins and bluebirds who sang each morning.

            With the departure of the Elves at the end of the Second Age of Middle-earth, much of the magic in Mindon faded. It remained beautiful still; but its beauty was subject to sickness and blemish. The remaining people knew not how to rival the skill of the elves in the growth of trees and flowers and the tending of them such as would make them lovely throughout the years. Without the power of the elves, Mindon became lost to the few that had known of it until almost all knowledge of the hidden land was erased from the memory of Middle-earth, save for some in Lothlórien. 

When Ithildin journeyed away from home that sorrowful day countless years ago, the elderly couple took to themselves in the house of Herth-Milui and remained there for the rest of their lives until their death. Thus ended the last of the people of Mindon-Enedh, the hidden land in the hills whom even time had forgotten.


	34. Appendix B

Appendix B

The Story of Ithildin

            It was a warm summer day many years ago when the elderly couple traveled along the Celebrant, in search of berries and fresh water to take back to their home. The sun shone brightly but the heat was not fierce; and a gentle breeze ruffled the patches of fir about them. The distant song of birds could be heard high above the sky. Squirrels raced across the small worn path carrying with them, twigs and acorns to be used in their busy lives. Trees stood tall and proud on either side of the stream, their green leaves fanning in the wind as if to greet the elderly couple.

            About an hour passed since they had set out when the elderly couple spotted a patch of bright, red thimbleberries. Now, thimbleberries ripen in the summer, but they are most hard to find. They are sweet, if one knows how to pick the right kind. The people of Mindon Enedh had long treasured thimbleberries, especially the Elves, who had grown patches of them in the gardens of their homes in the days of old. But after the darkness of the Second Age, the thimbleberry shrubs withered and died and no more were they seen.

            So the elderly couple was quite delighted when they found this small patch, blooming bright and red in the afternoon sun. As quickly as they could, without disturbing the wildlife around, they hastened to the shrubs, hoisting their small baskets of dried grass in delightful anticipation. They were quite curious though, as to where these berries came from and were quite sure something unnatural had occurred. Thimbleberries did not appear out of nowhere. Nevertheless, they stepped over rock and stone until they had made their way to the berries, and began the leisurely task of picking the juiciest and ripest.

            What happened next they later recorded in the _Book of Mindon_, which my ancestors found in the study of Lord Elrond Halfelven in Rivendell many years ago. I have done my best to translate their entry concerning this day.

            "Scarcely had we reached for the third berry, when the waters of the Celebrant stilled for a moment and we heard a most unusual sound: The soft laughter of a baby. Our nerves were quite scattered at this unusual sound and for a moment, we were sure that the laughter was coming from the berries! But we collected our wits and searched the shrubs and lo! we found, wrapped in a blanket of silver cloth, a baby. She was beautiful; her eyes were clear and bright and her skin was pale as the moon. She did not cry when we approached her, but instead held out her hands to us and laughed again and from that moment, our hearts were hers.

            We picked her up carefully, and searched for a sign that might indicate who she belonged to but we found nothing. There was not a footprint on the bank and her silver blanket was just that: a silver blanket. It was strange, though, that she should lie right beneath the only patch of thimbleberries that had appeared for many years. I was quite tempted to believe there was some Elvish blood in this child; but it was long since I had seen Elves and I dismissed the thought. I held her while we continued picking berries and when we were done, we made our way home. I quite expected this child to cry of hunger at some point; she was not scrawny, but she was terribly thin and we had no idea how long she had lain underneath those thimbleberries. But she did not cry once and instead slept peacefully in my arms for the rest of the afternoon."

            The _Book of Mindon_ ends here, for there are no more entries after the one concerning the discovery of Ithildin. The elderly couple recorded no more; and Ithildin did not write in the _Book_, being content instead to record her days in Mindon in a small dark red book she fashioned herself. This book she took with her to Lothlórien, but forgot it there when she left. The book was found by Haldir who gave it to Galadriel, Lady of the Wood. Galadriel kept it safe until the Fire of Lothlórien, the first attack on the Golden Wood by the Dark Lord of Mordor, where sadly, the book was destroyed. And so, no more is known about Ithildin's past or the last days of the Mindon.


	35. Appendix C

Appendix C

_Concerning Ithildin_

            The following are notes, letters, journal entries and other such things regarding Ithildin after her departure from Mindon Enedh. I have tried my best to arrange them in chronological order. The translations are rough; I have not quite mastered the languages of old, but I purpose more to expand on the gaps in her story—of which I know little—than to aim for linguistic accuracy.

1) A brief entry in the writings of Galadriel, Lady of the Wood, concerning the day Ithildin entered her realm:

            "_Good though her intentions seemed, we were not quite comfortable with [Ithildin's] presence. There was something strange about her that was almost hidden. I searched but I could not determine exactly what it was. This perturbed me for many days. The Lord Celeborn sensed this as well, and on the evening of her arrival, he whispered to me that he wished to consult the books of Lórien. But he found nothing and my own efforts were in vain. Whatever it was about [Ithildin], I suppose it was not intended for us to know."    _

2) Found later in the Common Room at the Golden Horse, a brief note in the notebook of a painter on the day Ithildin arrived in Edoras:

            _"To my left I observed an enchanting young woman with hair of ebony and silver. Alone she had sat for quite some time, until a group of Théoden's men, returning from business outside, noticed her and began to question her. She answered their rather ridiculous and impertinent questions with admirable patience. And to my right…"_

3) Excerpt from a letter written by Gandalf Greyhame a few weeks after the departure of the Fellowship of the Ring from Rivendell:

             _"Finally, the dear hobbits, most notably Pippin, wish to say hello to Ithildin. They are quite tied up at the moment, being fast asleep, but they begged me not to send this letter without adding the previous sentence. So send the silver lady a greeting from them and many happy returns. Oh, and Legolas sends his regards as well…"_

4) To be found in a tiny section in the _Red Book_ of Bilbo Baggins, the cousin of Frodo Baggins, and recorder of the events during the War of the Ring. This book was passed on to Frodo, who later passed it on to his dearest friend Samwise Gamgee when he departed from Middle-earth. After Frodo's departure, it was Sam's job to continue writing in the book until it was finished. An excerpt from one entry not long after Frodo's departure:

            _"Sometimes, it is difficult for me to remember that Master Frodo is no longer here. I have become so used to doing the little things: waking up early to make him a fresh pot of tea, turning to him for advice when I need help, spending warm evenings by the fire with him while he writes in this book and I play with Elanorh…Ah, well, such is the way of things, I suppose, and I cannot say that I am not happy. Nor that the remaining members of our Fellowship are not. Aragorn has reclaimed the throne of Gondor and married Lady Arwen and is busy doing all the busy things that kings do. Merry and Pippin are content, being quite more respected now than when they left the Shire all those years ago. I have heard that Gimli is off in the woods of Fangorn, or perhaps the Glittering Caves, with Legolas, both holding true to the pact they made at Helm's Deep long ago and Ithildin awaits them back home in the city of Ithilien, off on her own adventure to restore the city to its former beauty. _

_I think, perhaps, that I now understand the sorrow of the Elves: They watch the world go by and times change and people leave and sometimes, the desire to have things remain the same forever is too much for the heart to bear…"_

5) A poem written by Legolas Greenleaf as he sailed on the last ship to Valinor:

_Sail thee forward ship o' mine _

_Through the star white foams of sea, and thine_

_Swiftness to wounds of sorrow heal_

_The ache of grief that I must feel_

_To east does yearn my heavy heart_

_For she who played her own small part_

_To help end this tale of joy and woe_

_But gone be the days of the world I know_

_Yet such oft is the river of life, beloved things_

_Are washed by its midnight hands of springs_

_An innocent bird is joy that we long_

_With earnest soul to protect from wrong_

_Cold crystal appears the awakening spray_

_That caresses each face and falls gently away_

_Speed, dear ship, of the sea we cross_

_So that soon may I forget my loss_


End file.
